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Song  Birds  and  Seasons 


BY 


ANDRE   THEURIET 


ILLUSTRATED   BY  HECTOR    GIACOMELLJ 


BOSTON 

E  S  T  E  S     AND     L  A  U  R  I  A  T 


Copyright,  1888, 
By   Estes  and   Lauriat. 


Pkhsswokk  hy  JuiiN   Wilson  and  Son, 
L'mvkksitv  Press. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


SYMPHONY   OF   SPRING. 

PAOK 

Border Goldfinch,  bullfinch,  greenfinch,  warblers  ix 

Headpiece The  concert xi 

Initial  Illusti-ation Finch  in  its  bower xi 

Tailpiece Wren xvi 

THE  FINCH. 

Border Young  finches 1 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     Finch  calling  its  little  ones      ....  3 

Fidl-page  Illustration    ....     The  finch  and  its  nest 7 

Tailpiece The  finch  of  Ardennes 10 

THE   WARBLER. 

Border Young  warblers 11 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     The  open  bills 13 

Full-page  Illustration    ....     Black-headed  warbler 17 

Tailpiece Warbler's  nest 20 

THE   NIGHTINGALE. 

Border Young  nightingales 21 

Headpiece Hymn  to  the  moon 23 

Initial  Illusti-ation Song  of  love 23 

Full-page  Illustration     ....     The  nightingale 27 

Tailpiece Warbler's  nest 30 


iv  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS, 


Border 

Headpiece  .... 
Initial  Illustration  . 
l-\ill-page  Illustration 
Tailpiece    .... 


THE   GOLDFINCH. 

PAGE 

The  first  flight 31 

The  nest 33 

Goldfinch  picking  a,  thistle       ....  33 

Goldfinch 37 

The  galley-slave 40 


THE   LINNET   AND   THE   SISKIN. 

Border  . Young  linnets 41 

Headpiece On  the  hedge 43 

Itiitial  Illustration     ....          The  first  eggs 43 

Fidl-page  Illustration    ....     Linnet's  nest 47 

Tailpiece The  siskin 50 

THE   GOLDHAMMER. 

Border The  nest  and  nestlings 51 

Headpiece The  sorb-apples 53 

Initial  Illustration The  cherries 53 

Full-page  Illustration     ....     The  goldhammer 57 

Tailpiece Female  goldhammer 60 

THE  KING-FISHER. 

Border The  young  of  tlie  king-fisher  ....  61 

Headpiece The  ambuscade 63 

Initial  Illustration King-fisher  diving 63 

Full-page  lUnstration     ....     King-fisher 67 

Tailpiece A  good  prey 70 

THE   SPARROW. 

Border Young  sparrows 71 

Headpiece The  assembly 73 

Initial  Illustration On  the  roof 73 

Full-page  Illustration     .     .     .     .     Tn  the  fiflds 77 

Tailpiece Tho  hedge-sparrow 80 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE   WAGTAIL. 

PAGE 

Border Young  wagtails 81 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     At  the  bath 83 

Fall-page  Illustration     ....     Watei-wagtail 87 

7'ailpiece Yellow  wagtail 90 

THE   STONE-CHAT. 

Border The  stone-chat's  song 91 

Headpiece Ploughed  land 93 

Initial  Illustration At  the  edge  of  the  field 93 

Full-page  Illustration     ....     Hedge  stone-chat's  nest 97 

Tailpiece Heath  stone-chat 100 

THE  NUT-HATCH   AND   THE  LESSER  WOODPECKER. 

Border The  nut-hatches lUl 

Headpiece  ami  Initial  Illustration     The  purveyors  of  the  little  birds  .     .     .  103 

Full-page  Illustration     ....     The  nut-hatch 107 

Tailpiece The  woodpecker 110 

THE   LARK. 

Border The  lark's  little  ones      .     .     .     .     •     .  Ill 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     ^lorning IL! 

Full-page  Illustration    ....     Lark  soaring 117 

Tailpiece The  young  brood 120 

THE   RED-START. 

Border In  the  nest 121 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     The  siesta 12o 

Full-page  Illustration    ....     The  red-start 127 

Tailpiece The  blue-breast 130 


VI  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE  BULLFINCH. 

PAGE 

Border The  nest 131 

Headpiece On  the  branches 133 

Initial  Jllustralion Young  bullfinches       ......  133 

Ftdl-page  llluMration    ....     Bullfinches  on  the  wing 137 

Tailpiece Twee-twee-twee 140 

THE  THRUSH. 

Border On  the  watch Ill 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     On  the  vine 143 

Full-page  Illustration     .     .     .     .     The  thrush 147 

Tailpiece The  mavis 150 

THE   SWALLOW. 

Border Young  swallows 151 

Headpiece  and  Initial  Illustration     A  telegraj)h  wire 153 

Full-page  Illustration     ....     In  the  open  sky 157 

Tailpiece Dead 160 

THE   RED-BREAST. 

Border Young  red-breasts 161 

Headpiece In  quest  of  shelter 163 

Initial  Illustration The  nest 163 

Full-page  Illustration    ....     First  snow 167 

Tailpiece Leaving  the  nest 170 

THE  TITMOUSE  FAMILY. 

Border Young  blue  titmice 171 

Headpiece Winter 173 

Initial  Illustration Great  titmouse 173 

Fidl-page  Illustration    ....     Great  black  headed  titmouse   ....  177 

Tailpiece Crested  titmouse 180 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Vll 


THE    WREN    AND    THE   TROGLODYTE. 


PAGE 
181 


Border  A  prey     

lleadpiecf VVreus  (the  rivals) 183 

Initial  lUuslralion Wren  and  her  little  ones 183 

Full-page  lllustralian     ....     Wren's  nest 187 

Tailpiece Troglodyte 190 


Border  .     .     .     .'   . 
Headpiece  .... 
Initial  Illustration 
Full-page  Illustration 


THE   BLACKBIRD. 


Young  blackbirds 191 

Across  the  fields 193 

On  the  branches 193 

Spring  shower 197 


Tailpiece The  ouzel 


200 


""/  ^J^ 


A  SYMPHONY   OF   SPRING 


.^  ,>.->  At  first  an  almost  insensible  rustling,  a  scar- 

r^^;^      cell/  perceptible  thrill  runs  through   the  forest , 

I-  like  the  mysterious  murmur  of  growing  grass, 

of  opening  leaves  and  of  rising  sap  ;  —  then, 

on  the  skirt  of  the  coppice  where   the  yellow 

cornelian-tree  is  in.  full  bloom,   at  the  bottom 

of  the  moist  valleys  where  the  laurel  unfurls 

its   pink   corolla,    three    notes   burst    forth, 

f^H'      three  joyous,   quick,   sharp   redoubled  notes  :   it 

is    the  first  awakening  of  the  songsters   of  the 

woods,  the  blackbird  tliul  whistles  his  merry  song  to   the 

newly  budding  trees,  like  a  boy  let  out  of  sc/iool  shouting 


XII  A    SYMPHONY    OF    SPRING 

U)  all  (he  nooks  of  the  forest  :  «  Merrill/!  merrily !  let  us 
e/f/o//  on /-selves ;  spri/ii^  has  come  back;  to-day  is  Saint- 
Al ban's  day,  when  every  bird  lias  chosen  the  place  of  its 
nest !  »  7nY>  voices  respond  to  this  merry  companion  :  one, 
at  the  same  time  soft  and  tliriUin*^  bursts  forth  from  the 
shadiest  coverts,  't  is  that  of  the  fncli ;  —  the  other,  clear, 
wild  and  joyful  is  that  of  the  black-cap.  These  two  new- 
comers sing  but  a  short  strain,  but  they  repeat  it  to  satiety, 
as  if  they  felt  the  need  of  convincing  themselves  that 
winter  is  really  gone  and  that  in  spite  of  April  s/iowers 
spring  has  not  been  countermanded. 

Down  below,  in  the  plain  where  wheat  and,  rye  are 
growing  green,  hundreds  of  aerial,  melodious  voices  con- 
firm this  good  news.  It  is  the  morning  c/iiwus  of  shy-larks. 
At  break  of  day,  the  prst  one  awake  soars  upwards 
rising  in  a  straight  line  as  high  as  j)ossible.,  like  the  sailor 
on  the  outlook  at  the  top  of  the  highest  mast.,  and  pro- 
claims to  (dl  its  kind  that  the  season  of  love  and  nest 
building  has  come;  then  it  falls  straight  down  like  the 
plumb  line  into  the  grassiest  furrows.  Another  .skylark 
soars  upwards.,  then  a  third ,  then  twenty  others ;  you  can 
hardly  perceive  them  up  above  in  the  rosy  purjyle  of  the 
rising  sun;  but  you  can  hear  their  distant  melody,  the 
notes  of  which  seem  to  drop  down  like  shining  pearls 
from  a  string. 

The  signal  for  the  concert  is  now  given.  From  every 
nook  and  corner,  from  the  hedges  on  the  road-side,  from 


A    SYMPHONY    OF    SPRING  XIII 

the  full-blown  fruit  trees  of  the  orchard,  from  the  low 
banks  of  the  river,  from  the  shady  glens  of  the  forest ,  a 
marvelloiis  ensemble  fills  the  resonant  atmosphere:  the 
trills  of  the  goldfinch,  the  chirping  of  the  linnet  and  the 
titmouse,  the  runs  of  the  thrush,  the  tremolo  of  the  hoo- 
poo,  the  interlude  of  the  bullfinch,  the  soft  shrill  of  the 
wren  and  the  nut-hatch.  Then,  at  inter\'als,  breaking  in 
upon  this  unceasing  variety  of  sound ,  two  grave  deep, 
dreamy,  redoubled  notes  ring  through  t/ie  t/iickness  of 
the  forest. 

It  is  the  voice  of  the  cuckoo,  that  invisible,  fanciful 
singer  that  you  hear  almost  at  the  same  time  in  all  the 
nooks  and  corners  of  the  wood,  and  his  song  seems  to 
rythm  the  /light  of  time.  You  think  him  quite  near,  you 
seek  him  and  suddenly  his  sonorous  aj)j)eal  bursts  forth 
from  afar.  It  is  he  who  throws  a  melancholy  note  into 
this  concert  of  universal  joy.  T/iis  full  and  mysterious 
double  note,  which  ever  seems  to  die  away  and  which 
constantly  resounds  again,  is  like  an  echo  of  vanished 
springs  and  of  forgotten  friendships.  It  seems  to  sigh  ; 
«  Remember .^  remember  .^  Give  a  thought  to  those  who  /lave 
gone  for  ever,  to  the  memory  of  those  beloved  beings  who 
can  no  more  taste  the  rapture  of  the  revival  of  nature. 
Time  flies  and  carries  you  along...  For  you  also,  sp/ing 
will  not  bloom  always  .^  »  But  in  .spite  of  the  prognostics 
of  this  melancholy ,  caj)ii(ious  warncr,  the  /oijful  /ne//i- 
ment  of  the  light-hearted  tribe  bursts  fortli  ever  and  anon 


XIV  A    SYMPHONY    OK    SPRING 

///  an  cxuberdnce  of  .sorii^:  Leaves  are  i^rou'i/ig,  lilies  of 
the  valleif  perfume  the  air,  nests  are  being  built  every- 
where :  in  the  grass,  in  the  hedges,  in  the  hollow  of  dead 
trees,  in  the  branches  of  green  boughs,  and  everij  one 
thinks  only  of  the  delights  of  the  present  hour. 

Now  the  black  and  white  swallows,  with  their  pointed, 
arrow-like  wings,  come  out  of  all  the  streets  of  the  village. 
These  fearless  travellers  come  from  afar  and  manifest 
their  Joy  of  being  home  again  by  the  most  astonishing 
circuits.  Air-drinkers  as  they  are,  they  brush  past  the  top 
of  roofs,  skim  along  the  ground ,  disappear  under  the 
arches  of  the  bridges  and  reappear  .suddenly  in  the 
bright  sun-light ;  they  veer  about,  rise,  fly  up  and  down 
without  ever  perching  and  hardly  uttering  the  slightest 
sound.  The  silent  dance  of  these  black  gypsies  is  like  an 
intermezzo  in  the  symphony  of  spring.  It  is  the  ballet  in 
the  middle  of  the  concert. 

Meanwhile  yonder ,  in  the  forest,  the  singing  continues. 
From  the  bottom  of  the  thicket  the  cooing  of  the  wild  wood- 
pigeon,  at  once  low  and  tender,  loud  and  yet  clouded 
comes  towards  us.  The  passionate,  languishing  note  rises, 
falls,  rises  again;  you  seem  to  hear  the  sleepy  forest  utter 
unconscious  sighs  in  its  dream.  This  is  no  longer  the 
f'oyous  greeting  of  the  sky-lark  at  early  dawn,  nor  the 
sprightly  prattle  of  the  black-bird ,  nor  the  sonorous  call 
of  the  cuckoo;  it  is  the  intimate  talk  of  a  loving  married 
couple,  who  exchange  tender  and  caressing  vows,  liappy 


A    SYMPHONY    OF    SPUING  XV 

in  their  conjugal  f elicit;).  The  uoood-pigeons  coo  on  heed- 
less of  their  surroundings ;  theij  give  themselves  up  to  their 
mutual  tenderness  atul  like  the  lovers  in  La  Fontaine's 

fable  : 

Us  se  sont  I'lin  a  I'autre  un  inoiidc  toujoitrs  beau, 

Toujours  divers,  toujours  nouveau... 

But  now  the  shadows  are  lengthening  on  the  pelds ;  the 
sky  reflects  a  deeper  azure  hue  in  the  ponds ;  the  thickets 
assume  a  redder  tint  and  the  first  twinkling  star  trembles 
above  the  horizon.  The  voices  grow  fainter  and  fainter, 
the  birds  fall  asleep  near  their  nests.  You  would  think 
that  the  concert  is  going  to  end,  but  it  is  only  a  temporary 
hush,  a  cleverly  managed  pause  to  prepare  the  entrance 
of  the  grand  artist  of  spring. 

The  nightingale  sings,  and  Nature  herself  seems  to  be 
listening.  The  admii-ab/c  strains  of  this  master  solist  fll 
up  the  whole  interval  from  night-fall  to  day-break.  Beside 
him  all  other  performers  retire  into  shade ;  listening  to 
him,  you  forget  their  humble  songs ,  just  as  the  sweet 
scented,  milk-white  lily  of  the  valley  obliterates  the 
remembrance  of  April  flowerets.  With  the  song  of  t/ie 
nightingale  the  enchantment  of  fairy-land,  begins  to  reign 
in  the  woods.  His  hymn  is  the  song  of  tyrannical,  violent, 
passionate,  tender  and  sensuous  love.  You  never  grow 
tired  of  hearing  this  song,  you  would  have  it  lust  forever. 

But  nothing  lasts  forever.  Towards  the  middle  of  June 
the  breath  of  the  master  artist  grows  sho/ter,  and  when 


XVI 


A    SYMPHONY    OF    SPRING 


the  midsummer  sun  shines  on  the  fields  Ids  powerful  voice 
is  no  longer  heard  in  the  nii^/it.  Earlier  yet  than  lie  the 
^varblers  have  ceased  their  song.  One  bird  alone ,  the 
chattering  warbler  utters  its  deafening,  vulgar  melopceia, 
among  the  willows  by  the  river  bathed,  in  sunshine ;  its 
noisy  music  rises  above  the  glistening  watei's,  above  the 
transparent  blaze  of  the  fiery  atmosphere,  while  down 
tjonder,  aniom^  the  ripe  cherries  of  the  orchard  the  gold- 
finch drinlxs  in  the  perf\iined  juice,  scarcely  able  to  throw 
out  three  fhite-like,  lisping  notes.  These  are  the  last  song- 
sters of  the  season,  and  their  .w,n,-ivarmed  strains  end  the 
«  Symphony  of  spring  ». 


THE    FINCH 

T«it,  twit!...   't  is  the  .spring  time  now 
There  are  finches  on  every  boujih. 

Now  winter  is  past  and  ended. 
Their  lay   w ith   the   merle's    is  blend<il ; 
It  tells  the  boys  of  Easter  at  hand, 
With  flowerets  gay. 

Dust  in  a  shower  golden 
Falls  from  the  willows  olden. 
Willows,  whose  flower  we  b.ar  in  hand 
On  Easier  Day. 

Hail.  liltU-  fin-l'  "f  'I'C  ■^""'"'^  '''''''■• 
Uejoicing  loud  in  thr  springtide! 
Youth,  spring,  the  Uower  strewn  land 
Inspire  thy  lay. 


Twil!   twit...  't  is  the  spring  lime  now 
There  arc  finches  on  every  bough  I 


'^^M^  / 


i: 
m 


'■'^^ 


THE    FINCH 


Taking  a  walk  in  llic  woods  on  one  of  the 
first  fine  days  oF  March,  I  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance the  merry  song  of  a  bird.  At  that  time 
of  the  year  the  leafless  forest  has  the  sonority 
of   an    empty   dwelling    and    that   early    song 

.-S?*5'??*-  rang  joyously  through  the  woods  like  the  fore- 
^"  "-'V'  runner  of  coming  spring.  The  song  consisted 
"  of  three  parts  :  a  lively  prelude,  a  trill  and  a  final 
modulation  with  a  powerful,  delicate  sound.  I  lecognized 
the  song  of  the  finch,  and  that  strain  of  early  spring 
brought  back  to  my  mind  a  remembrance  of  clii Id- 
hood,  which  secnud  lo  ris(^  from  afar,  like  the  st)ng, 
from  the  very  depths  of  the   forest. 


4  THE    FINCH 

At  thai  time,  being-  eleven  years  old,  1  used  to  lay 
snares  for  young  birds  in  a  coppice  belonging  to  my 
grandfather.  These  snares  are  very  common  in  the  pro- 
vince of  Lorraine,  especially  from  September  to  No- 
vember, the  time  of  passage.  All  the  small  fry  of  birds 
are  sure  to  be  taken  in  these  traps,  especially  in  the 
cruel  one  that  La  Fontaine  calls  «  Re^ln<>iette  »  and 
which   in  our  parts  is  called   the   «  Grasshopper  ». 

This  snare  consists  of  a  supple  hazel  switch  curved 
like  a  racket,  the  two  ends  of  which  are  brought  together 
by  a  double  cord.  These  rackets  are  placed  edgewise 
along  the  paths  or  the  ponds  frequented  by  birds,  every 
twenty  feet.  Some  of  the  more  skilled  snarelayers  even 
fasten  a  bunch  of  sorberries  above  the  racket  as  a 
bait.  Early  in  the  morning  and  late  at  night,  some 
sharp  billed  bird  is  sure  to  come  and  drink  in  the 
pond  tempted  by  the  treacherous  appearance  of  that 
inviting  perch  ;  they  settle  on  it,  a  peg  comes  down 
with  a  dry  noise,  and  the  poor  creature  is  caught  in 
the  suddenly  tightened  slip  knot  and  hangs  suspended 
by  its  bruised  members  at  the  top  of  the  unstrung 
racket. 

One   evening  as  my    grandfather  and   I   were  taking 

our   last  walk,    1   heard    some    sharp  cries   in  a  footpath 

close  by  and    1   saw   a   bird    just    caught   in   one    of  our 

<(  Grasshoppers  ».     It  was  about  the   size  of  a   sparrow 

-    and  it  fluttered  so  furiously  that  it   had   almost  overset 


THE    FINCH  5 

the  racket.  Nevertheless,  it  had  not  been  injured,  perhaps 
the  cord  liad  not  snapped  back  as  siuUlenly  as  usual,  or 
the  I'eet  of  the  victim  had  been  more  resistant  Its  back 
was  chestnut-coloured,  the  top  of  its  head  and  its  bill 
bluish  drab ;  it  had  bright  eyes,  black  mustachios  ;  its 
neck,  breast  and  sides  were  of  a  fine  wine  colour,  its  runij) 
of  a  dark  olive  shade ;  it  had  besides  a  forked  tail  and 
a  white  spot  on  each  wing. 

«  It  is  a  finch  from  the  Ardennes,  »  said  my  grand- 
father. I  knew  it  already,  for  having  taken  it  by  its 
wings  so  as  to  set  it  free,  it  had  bitten  me  to  the  blood. 
My  grandfather  observed  to  me  that  its  feet  had  not  been 
broken,  one  only  being  slightly  scratched.  When  I  saw 
how  lively  and  pretty  it  was,  I  thought  1  should  like 
to  ])ut  it  into  a  case  and  tame  it.  1  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  take  it  home  and  1  insisted  so  w(>ll  that  the  per- 
mission was  granted.  «  Very  well  »,  said  my  grand- 
father, shaking  his  head;  «  but  you  will  surely  never  be 
able  to  bring  it  up  ;  it  is  already  too  strong  and  too 
wild   ». 

Of  course  I  did  not  believe  him.  being  at  that  pre- 
sumptions age  when  we  have  no  doubts  about  any- 
thing. I  wrapped  the  finch  up  in  mv  handkercliiel 
and  as  soon  as  we  got  home  I  |)la(ed  it  in  a  well 
closed  wicker  basket  until  1  could  jirepare  a  cage  for  it 
the  next  day. 

I  passed  half  tiic  night   without  i)eing  al)h>  to    slccj). 


6  THE     FINCH 

as  the  thouo-lit  oF  my  prisoner  kej)l  ninnino-  in  mv  head. 
1  had  Ilea  id  that  finches  have  a  marvelous  musical  apti- 
tude and  tliat  with  patience  one  can  train  them  to  he 
regular  aitists;  so  that  when  my  eyes  closed  at  last, 
1  heard  my  |)upii  singini)-  in  my  dreams  like  the  blue 
bird  of  fairyland.  At  dawn  I  ran  to  mv  basket.  The 
finch  had  scarcely  slept  better  than  I  ;  it  was  lluttering- 
about  sullenly,  peckini;'  furiouslv  at  the  sides  of  the 
basket.  I  s])ent  all  the  monev  I  had  saved  on  a  cage 
containing  a  trough  and  a  manger  which  I  filled  with 
hempseed.  I  moved  mv  bird  into  its  cage  and  while  it 
was  getting  accustomed  to  its  new  dwelling,  I  climbed 
into  our  garret,  where  1  consulted  some  old  vokimes  on 
ornithology,  so  as  to  get  well  acquainted  with  the  habits 
and  tastes  of  mv  guest. 

There  I  learned  that  finches  are  naturally  very 
merry,  that  they  sing  early  in  the  sjiring,  long  before 
the  nightingale,  and  that  besides  their  regular  song, 
they  throw  out  three  peculiar  notes  :  a  cry  of  apj^eal 
at  the  time  of  courtship,  a  war  cry  when  they  fight 
against  a  rival,  and  finallv.  when  it  is  going  to  rain, 
a  long  wail  which  is  a  certain  prognostic  of  bad 
weather.  I  saw  besides  that  finches  Imild  their  nests 
in  the  most  thicklv  spreading  trees;  these  nests  are 
round,  solidiv  woven  of  moss  on  the  outside,  of  hair 
and  spider-webs  on  the  inside  ;  the  female  lays  five  or 
six  red    brown    eggs   spotted  with  black  at   the  broader 


lllE    I'l.NClI 


THE    FINCH  9 

end  ;  the  male  remains  patiently  near  his  mate,  feeding 
their  young  with  insects  and  caterpillars ;  my  author 
added  that  adult  finches  feed  on  seeds,  such  as  poppies, 
mast  and  grain. 

Thus  well  informed,  1  returned  to  the  cage.  The  pii- 
soner  did  not  at  all  seem  inclined  to  get  used  to  it. 
Clutching  at  the  bars,  fluttering  incessantly,  he  had  upset 
the  trough  and  disdained  the  hemp-seed  which  filled  the 
manger.  I  thought  perhaps  the  bird  did  not  like  its  fare, 
my  book  having  spoken  of  poppies  and  mast.  1  ran  into 
the  fields  to  search  for  this  food ;  when  I  came  back 
the  feverish  agitation  of  the  prisoner  had  redoubled. 
It  continued  throwing  itself  against  the  bars  in  a  state 
of  great  rage,  bruising  its  pretty  bluish  head,  breaking 
the  feathers  of  its  tail,  while  the  bristled  down  of  its  chest 
was  flying  about  the  air.  From  time  to  time,  being  out 
of  breath  it  would  huddle  itself  up  in  a  corner,  opening- 
wide  its  deep  black  eyes  and  its  despairing  glance 
seemed  to  cry  out  to  me  :  «  Set  me  free !  oh  set  me  free !  » 
I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  its  mute  appeal  and  left  it,  beguiling 
myself  with  the  hope  that  the  night  would  calm  it.  At 
day-break  I  ran  again  to  my  cage...  there  lay  the  finch, 
already  stiffened,  on  the  bottom  board  of  the  cage, 
with  closed  eyelids,  bristled  dull  plumage,  dead  amidst 
the  scattered  seeds  it  had  left  untouched.  The  wild 
biid  of  the  mountain,  hating  its  prison,  had  starved  itself 
to  death. 


10 


THE     I' INCH 


My  heart  failed  inc,  for  I  he  ci"uel  agony  of  the  poor 
bird  weighed  on  my  eonseienee.  For  a  long  while  I  eould 
not  see  a  l)ird  without  feeling  strangely  uneasy.  And  to- 
day still,  after  so  many  years,  ^hile  I  was  listening 
to  the  early  trills  of  the  (inch  in  the  hiiishwood,  this 
lenuMnhianee  of  my  chihlhood  come  back  to  my  mind 
^vith  the   bitter  taste  of  remorse. 


-^Oifc 


/ 


THE    WARBI.KK 

When  April  scatters  her  flowerets  few. 
The  leaves  are  grecu  in  the  woodland  bowers 
Gay  little  warbler,  we  welcome  you. 
Sweetly  singing. 

Down  by  the  waters  blue  and  clear. 
Woven  deftly  'twixt  reed  stalks  three. 
Ilan<rs  your  nest,  o'er  the  placid  mere 
Softly  swinging. 


Wild  and  sweet  is  your  rapid  lav. 
Passionate,  brief.  How  the  joys  ol  youtL 
Keen,  and  so  swift  to  pass  away, 
Are  lik. 


THE    WARBLER 


Of  all  sylvan  birds  the  warbler  is  the  one 
with  which  we  are  the  most  familiar.  If  we 
have  ever  lived  in  the  country,  we  have  surely 
known  one  or  two.  The  tribe  of  warblers  is 
numerous  :  the  grey  warbler,  the  black  cap  and 
the  whole  class  of  reed  warblers  that  includes 
the  great  sedge  warbler,  the  marsh  warbler,  and 
the  white    throat. 

The  grey  warbler  is  the  largest  ami  most  com- 
mon of  all.  It  generally  lives  in  gardens,  orchards,  bean 
and  pea  fields.  It  perches  on  the  sticks  which  sustain 
these  creeping  vegetables ;  there  it  plays  its  gambols 
and  builds  its  nest.     It  remains  there  till  harvest  time, 


14  THE     WARBLER 

which  coincides  generally  with  the  period  of  migration. 
During  the  season  of  courtsliij)  and  brooding  these 
wreath  i\\u\  llower-covered  houghs  resound  with  light 
melodies.  ;uul  lliese  joyous  marriage  songs  harmonize 
s\\e(Mlv  with  tlie  tender  green  of  the  j)eas,  the  delicate 
blossoms  of  which  resemble  a  llight  of  while  butter- 
flies. 

The  black  cap  is  the  best  known  warbler  and  the 
most  gifted  as  regaids  garb  and  song.  When  fully 
grown,  its  black  hood  covers  the  ci'own  of  its  head 
and  falls  ovei'  its  eves;  ai'ound  tlie  n(>ck  ihe  plumage 
is  slate  coloured,  gelling  lighter  towards  the  clu^sl,  it  is 
while  on  the  bicast  with  a  slight  shade  of  black;  the 
back  and  wings  are  grevish  brown,  with  a  light  olive  tint. 

The  song  of  the  black  cap  is  sweet  and  sustained. 
It  consists  of  a  series  of  shoil.  bi'isk  and  clear  modu- 
lations; some  rather  IoikKm'  notes  are  heaid  in  the 
soft,  sweet  strain,  then  all  is  blended  again  in  a  soft 
twittering.  It  is  Irulv  the  language  of  the  first  emotions 
m  spring,  at  onc(^  livelv  and  discreet,  t  is  the  song  of 
the  youth  of  the  vear.  When  the  quick  jovous  notes 
of  the  waibler  resound  in  hazel  and  cherrytrees, 
school-boys  say  :  ''^^"inter  is  passing  away."  and 
suddenly  playing  truants,  they  wander  about  in  bands, 
roving  about  the  woods,  basking  in  the  sun.  seeking 
for  nests  and  cutting  whistles  in  the  willow  branches 
moist  with   sap. 


THE    WARBLER  15 

As  for  mo ,  I  can  never  hear  the  song  of  this 
warbler  without  remembering  the  whole  series  of  rustic 
pleasures  which  the  burden  of  its  strain  promised  me 
in  my  turbulent  childhood.  It  calls  to  my  mind  my 
father's  garden  with  its  thick  border  of  raspberry 
bushes,  its  boxwood  and  junij)er  trees  scattered  about 
the  walks.  In  the  heart  of  one  of  these  juniper  trees, 
I  discovered  one  morning  the  nest  of  a  black  cap 
warbler.  Placed  at  the  root  of  the  branches,  hardly 
two  feet  from  the  ground,  it  consisted  on  the  outside 
of  moss  and  dry  grass,  inside,  of  finely  interwoven  haii-. 
This  nest  contained  five  light  brow^n,  spotted  eggs  with 
darker  veins.  I  could  not  resist  the  naughty  childish 
caprice  of  stealing  one  of  the  jjretty  spotted  eggs.  The 
next  day  when  I  came  to  watch  the  brooding  mother, 
I  found  that  the  eggs  were  broken  and  the  nest  aban- 
doned. 

Warblers  are  unmanageable  on  this  point  :  as  soon 
as  the  hand  of  a  stranger  has  broken  in  upon  the 
mystery  of  their  nest,  considering  the  intrusion  of  this 
unknown  enemy  as  an  ill  omen  for  their  future  family, 
ihcy  prefer  destroying  the  whole,  beginning  to  lav  their 
eggs  elsewhere  where  the  brood  will  be  less  unlucky. 
Both  father  and  mother  watch  theii-  |)rogeniture  with 
equal  solicitude,  relieving  each  other  to  brood  and  show- 
ing an  attachment  to  their  newly  hatched  voung  which 
lasts  as  long  as  the  season.     They  keep  their  young  tledg- 


16  THE     WARBLER 

lings  near  tlicni.  You  can  sec  llicin  llvino^  about  the  skii't 
of  the  woods,  the  fatlier  ahead  as  a  scout;  if  he  perceives 
an  abunchint  harvest  of  wild  gooseberries  or  elderberries 
in  the  ])ushes,  he  gives  notice  of  it  to  his  family  by  a 
joyous  conic,  \\\\i\  the  whole  trooj)  hastens  thither  to 
partake  of  tlie  feast. 

The  habits  of  the  reecl-waiblers  are  very  different. 
The  great  sedge  \\ail)ler  |)i-efers  dwelling  among  swampy 
Avooded  baidvs;  the  marsh-wari)lei'  |)refers  gardens  and 
fields  neai-  iinining  watei-;  tlie  white  throat  pi-efers  to 
dwell  among  the  willows  near  rve  and  hemp  fields. 
Thei(^  are  some  traits  common  to  them  all  ;  thev  all  have 
a  fialteued  head  like  the  swallow,  a  strong  bill  and  a  long 
and  robusi  tliund)  nail  :  they  all  feed  exclusivelv  on  those 
insects  which  abound  in  lh(>  neighbourhood  of  water; 
they  all  have  the  sauie  yellowish  grey  plumage^  and  the 
same  shrill.    >liarp   notes   in    llieii-   song. 

Their  deep  nests  are  artistically  built,  skilfully  woven 
on  the  outside  anti  inside  with  (lr\  supple  grasses.  They 
generally  sus|)eud  them  on  I  w o  or  three  sleuis  lied  together 
by  as  many  rings  of  moss  and  hair:  these  moveable  looj)s 
are  loose  enough  to  allow  the  nest  to  rise  and  fall  accord- 
ing to  the   luMght   of  ihe   wat(Ms. 

In  this  aerial  dwelling  which  the  current  and  the 
slightest  breeze  swav  to  and  fro.  the  female  lavs  five  cream 
coloured  eggs,  veined  with  brown.  As  soon  as  the  eggs 
arc  laid,  she  does  not  again  leave  her  nest,  but  allows  it 


THE    WAHBLEK 


THE     WAHRI.EK  19 

to  be  rocked  ;  wliilsl  the  niiilc,  j^ercliing  on  a  willow 
l)r;ui(  h  oi-  clinging-  lo  a  ivod,  goes  on  repeating  all  day 
his  joyous  sj^riglilly  song,  letting  the  quick,  shrill  notes 
succeed  each  other  with  unvaiied  regularity  :^cri,  cri, 
era,  cara,   cara  ! 

The  sun  shoots  down  its  rays,  and  between  the  reeds 
the  water  has  the  dazzling  glare  of  molten  silver;  the 
fiery  atmosphere  seems  to  blaze,  and  that  monotonous 
unceasing  song  harmonizes  Avith  the  twinkling  of  the 
river,  the  buzzing  of  the  insects  and  the  quavering  of  the 
hot  air.  It  is  a  continual  babbling,  harsh  like  the  voice 
of  a  busy  housewife  as  she  comes  and  goes  about  the 
house,  giving  her  orders,  scolding  her  servants  and  never 
stopping  her  chattering.  In  the  district  of  Brie,  in 
France,  they  say  of  a  talkative  woman,  she  chatters  hke 
a  white  throat.  fElle  jase  com  me  line  efjarvatle.J 

This  merry  warbler  has  all  the  domestic  virtues  of  a 
good  housewife,  but  her  faults  as  well  :  exclusive,  positive 
and  domineering,  she  wishes  above  all  to  be  mistress  in 
her  own  house,  and  will  allow^  no  other  birds  to  settle  in 
the  place  she  has  chosen.  But  it  is  a  good-natured  bird 
after  all.  In  the  long  summer  days,  in  the  gloomy 
neighbourhood  of  solitary  ponds,  it  throws  out  now  and 
then  a  joyful  note.  Its  song  has  a  rather  common  melody, 
it  is  lively  and  free,  like  the  merriment  of  the  mob.  In 
spite  of  its  unvaried  trite  modulations,  it  is  rather  original. 
Whoever    has    once  heard   it   will     never   forget    it.      It 


THE    AVARBLER 


mingles  with  the  impression  left  by  fine  summer  days  in 
flowery  fields,  just  as  the  noisy  burden  of  the  belated 
labourer's  song  blends  Avith  the  touching  remembrance 
of  a   poetical  night   in   sj)ring. 


r  1 1 1<:  N I G  n  T 1 N  i;  a  l  k 

.   yf)     WliL-ii  haply,  waiiclcriiit;  over  hill  aiul  clal.'. 
I  ill  the  woods  have  heard  the  nightiujtiilr. 
Mcsccins  that  long  and   deejily   1  havr  qiialVt-.l 
^    "'"^  potent  niajiic  of  sonip  wizard  draught, 
T      Diawn  from  all  wondrous  licrbs  of  mystic  niighl. 
And  woodland  fragrance. With  w  hat  keen  d.li^lu 
His  >oug  mounts  higher,  towards  the  sky' 

If,  hdiiie  on  ellio   wiMj;s,  piiisiiing,    I 

Could  follow,  higher  y.t  and  yet  more  high. 

Methinks,  my  heart,  that  1  might  find  above 

Wliat  was,  in  days  of  old  :—  lost  youth,  lost  love. 

Time  hath  no  part,  0  wondrous  bird,  with  thee ; 

Thine  is  today  the  self-same  melody 

That  echoed  in   the  woods  when  time  wasyoiin. 


d  il 


Kings   .,f  the  aii.i,-iil    .-.nlh  U.<^ 
Nor  is   It  changed  bc.au.sc    their   In  aits,    .if  old 
I. la. I  with  the  song,  are  silent  now  and  .ol.l 
Immortal  is  thy  song,  because  its  spring 
love;   whiih  is  eternal  :  therefore,  Sing  ' 


THE   NIGHTINGALE 


This   is   the    master    artist ,    the    very  king 
of  singing  birds.   It  is  small  in  size,  greyish 
white  and  reddish  brown  in  garb,  it  makes  no 
outward    show  and  ought   never    to    be    seen 
but    from    the    distance.     It    needs    the   soft 
twilight  of  the    moon,  the  mystery  of  the  leafy 
forest  or  the  darkness  of  night;  but  beneath  that 
more  than  humble   garb  is   hidden  a  poet's   nature, 
a  most  passionate  soul,  served  by  a  most  marvelous 
instrument. 

Already  in  the  sixteenth  century  did  old  Belon  be- 
come almost  lyrical  in  speaking  of  the  nightingale  : 
«  \\Micn  the  trees  of  the  forest  arc  covered  with  green,  the 


24  ,  THE    NIGHTINGALE 

nightingale  for  a  long  while,  ceases  its  song  neither  by  day 
nor  by  night.  Does  there  exist  a  man  so  deprived  of 
judgment  as  not  to  be  struck  with  admiration  at  hearing- 
such  a  sweet,  loud  strain  coming  out  of  the  throat  of  such 
a  small  wild  bird  ?  The  best  of  the  nightingale  is  that  it 
persists  so  obstinately  in  its  song,  without  ever  getting 
tired  or  interrupting  its  strain ;  it  would  rather  cease  to 
live  than  cease  to  sing.  » 

It  makes  its  appearance  in  our  gardens  and  woods  at 
the  end  oF  April  when  all  Nature  is  busy  with  the  work 
ol  love  and  reproduction.  Its  beautiful  song  ceases  about 
the  middle  of  June.  It  comes  from  the  land  of  the  ever 
fiery  sun;  there  it  learned  those  warm,  metallic  notes 
which  seem  to  us  the  echo  ot  the  bright,  glowing  East. 
The  extent  of  its  voice  is  surprising,  and  yet  more  mar- 
velous is  the  robust  constitution  of  this  frail  little 
bird  that  can  sing  on,  night  after  night.  Also  this  artist 
requires  a  special  food  :  no  seeds,  no  watery  debilitating 
fruit,  but  live,  and  so  to  say  bleeding  flesh.  It  lives  exclu- 
sively on  worms,  insects  and  the  larvae  of  ants.  Like 
most  singers  it  is  a  great  cater,  but  a  great  eater  of  food 
that  is  rich  in  nitrogen.  By  means  of  this  strengthening 
nourishment,  its  nuiscles  acquire  a  wonderful  strength 
and  its   voice  unequalled  volume  and  sound. 

It  chooses  some  sonorous  glade  or  some  solitary  old 
tree  whereto  give  its  concert,  and  twilight  or  the  silent 
night  for  the  hour  of  its  representation.   (Thence  its  name 


THE    NIGHTINGALE  25 

of  nightingale  :  ihc  songster  of  the  night.)  P]vcry  tlnng  in 
this  bird  betrays  an  artist's  temperament,  every  thing, 
even  the  refmed  arrangement  of  its  nest,  composed  out- 
wardly of  leaves  that  are  superposed  like  the  petals  of  a 
rose,  and  lined  on  the  inside  with  long,  slender,  narrow 
blades  of  grass,  artistically  interwoven.  The  female  night- 
ingale lays  three  or  five  shining,  greenish  brown  eggs ; 
while  she  is  performing  the  office  of  brooding  the  male 
is  perched  on  a  neighbouring  tree,  charming  the  long- 
hours    of   her    sitting   with    exquisite  melodies. 

It  is  not  the  performance  of  a  skilful  and  cold  virtuoso, 
but  the  passionate  hymn  of  a  fiery,  voluptuous  soul.  The 
Germans,  who  are  apt  to  be  pedantic  even  in  poetry,  have 
tried  to  transcribe  the  song  of  the  nightingale  and  one  of 
their  learned  ornithologists,  M.  Bechtein,  has  made  a  syl- 
labic notation  of  it.  This  is  like  trying  to  give  and  idea  of 
the  perfume  of  the  rose  by  means  of  a  chemical  formula. 
Why  attempt  to  render  by  insufficient  human  sounds  that 
divine  strain  that  every  one  has  heard  ? 

This  ever  varying,  masterly  melody  is  truly  enchant- 
ing. It  expresses  every  emotion  :  melancholy  and  joy , 
tenderness  and  passion.  The  song  begins  with  some  rapid, 
thrilling  trills;  then  it  changes  slowly  into  a  coaxing, 
tender  lullaby,  like  an  appeal  to  love  ;  then  the  strain  is 
broken  by  two  deep,  grave  notes  which  die  away  like 
long  sighs;  then,  again  suddenly  the  tone  of  the  artist 
changes  :    brillanti,  trills,  staccati,    sparkling,    sonorous 


26  THE    XIGHTIXGALE 

flourishes,  succeed  each  other  rapidly,  —  and  then  again 
they  all  blend  in  a  dim,  dreamy  melody.  In  that  original 
strain,  «  In  shadiest  covert  hid,  »  you  seem  to  inhale  the 
perfume  of  the  lily  of  the  valley  and  of  sweet  scented 
forest  flowerets ,  the  sap  of  budding  leaves,  the  gushing 
joy  of  life   in    its  full  bloom. 

\A  hen  I  was  twenty  years  old  and  living  in  a  village, 
how  many  nights  i  passed  leaning  on  the  open  window- 
sill,  listening  to  the  song  of  the  nightingales  dispersed 
in  the  bowers  !  They  lesponded  by  turns  and  seemed  to 
vie  with  each  other  in  eloquence  and  passion.  All  around, 
far  and  near,  the  orchards  were  plunged  in  mysterious 
darkness.  I  listciuHl,  charmed,  spell-bound,  as  if  I  were 
living  in  fairy-land.  To  this  ever  varying,  thrilling  me- 
lody I  would  |)ul  unconnected  words,  such  as  one  mur- 
murs in  a  dream,  and  I  felt  myself  lifted  up,  carried 
away   in    a    magnificent   current    of  poetry. 

Even  to  day.  wIkmi  I  spend  the  month  of  May  in  the 
country,  it  ]ia|)|)(Mis  to  mc  to  listen  at  night  to  the  amo- 
rous serenade  of  the  nightingale,  trying  to  recall  the 
emotions  and  enchantment  of  by  gone  days.  But  alas! 
youth  never  comes  back  to  those  to  whom  it  has  once  sung 
its«  Song  of  songs  w.  Sj)ring  time  ivturns,  leaves  grow  green, 
nightingales  breathe  again  their  serenade  in  the  blooming 
appl(>-lrecs .  but  other  generations  enjoy  the  feast  and 
inhale  the  balmy  breath,  the  intoxicating  liquor  of  May! 
It  is  the  same  strain  and  the   same   fermentation  of  sap 


THE    NIGHTINGALE 


THE    NIGHTINGALE  29 

in  the  forest,  but  the  guests  are  not  the  same.  Youth 
has  invited  other  guests  to  sail  in  his  ilower-wreathed 
boat,  \\1ulst  we,  the  ekler  ones  remain  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  tired  and  disenchanted,  the  merry  skiff  sails 
away,  and  the  chorus  of  the  nightingales  which  it  carries 
along,  grows  fainter  and  fainter  as  it  disajDpears  in  the 
distance finally  dying  completely  away  in  the  dark- 
ness  

It  is  not  youth  that  dies  away,  it  is  we  who  disap- 
pear; the  song  of  the  nightingale  is  eternal,  but  where 
are  the  birds  that  sang  it  twenty  years  ago  ?  The  di- 
vine strain  itself  lasts  but  a  short  time  every  year, 
hardly  two  months  from  Saint-George's  to  Saint- John's 
day.  After  midsummer,  the  nightingale  sings  no  more. 
The  young  are  hatched  and  the  cares  and  preoccupa- 
tions of  material  existence  put  a  stop  to  the  poet's  inspi- 
ration. Their  notes  are  now  harsh,  being  a  sort  of  plaintive 
jarring,  snapping  noise  :  these  last  sounds  seem  intended 
for  menace  and  defiance.  The  representation  is  over,  the 
foot  lights  are  put  out,  the  marvelous  artist  leaves  the 
scene  of  his  triumphs,  and  carrying  his  starving  brood 
away  with  him,  he  takes  his  flight  towards  neighbouring- 
fields  and  bushes  where  he  will  find  a  more  plentiful  pro- 
vision of  worms.  When  you  meet  him  bv  chance  in  au- 
tunm ,  fluttering  widly  across  some  solitaiv  footpath, 
you  will  scarcely  recognize  in  that  siiciil  bird  with  its 
livery  of  a  dull  biownish  grey,  the  dazzling  singer  of  those 


30 


THE    NIGHTINGALE 


spell-bound  May  nights.  It  is  tluMi  like  those  artists  so 
aninialed  aiul  dazzling.  a])|)aiently  so  young  and  brilliant 
^vllen  seen  in  the  eostume  ol  the  stage,  the  dim  peispeclive 
ol"  the  baek  ground,  and  the  sparkling  footlights,  and 
Mhoin  vou  are  surprised  to  find  so  faded  and  old-looking. 
Avhen  vow  see  them  leave  the  theatre,  clad  in  an  old 
over-coat,  tramping  along  pitifully  in  the  mud, 


1^^ 


THE    GOLDFINCH 


Like   the   goldhammer,   the    goldfinch   is 

one  of  our  rare  singing  birds  whose  smart 

costume  harmonizes  with  its  melodious,  sono- 

^^      rous  voice.  Old  Belon  the  naturalist  says  :  «  it 

f^-    is  a    bird  of  finer   colour  than   any  other   we 

y^  have  in   France.   »  Its  pretty,  arch  little  head 

-'^^^'      i^    covered     with    a    black    hood     which     is 

;3/^  joined    by   a    black    line    to    its   ivory-coloured 

neck ;   the  upper  part  of  the  face   is  covered  by  a 

sort   of  crimson   velvet  mask,  through  which  two   arch, 

dark   brown  eyes   are    glistening.    Its  whitish   neck   and 

breast   of    the    same    colour,     its    black    wings    s|)otled 

with    gold,    its    brown    back     and    spotted    white    tail, 


34  THE    GOLDFINCH 

combine   to   make    it   a    most  impetuous   and    irresistible 
charmer. 

Chaimniit.  jeuno.  triiinanl  tons  les  coeurs  apres  soi 


Of  course  1  am  speaking  ol  the  male  only  ;  for  the  plu- 
mage of  the  female  is  (lullcr  and  her  habits  moie  peaceful. 
She  is  the  tvpc  of  a  housewife  who  loves  hei'  home,  and 
she  hardly  ever  leaves  her  carefully  interwoven  nest.  This 
nest  is  at  the  same  time  solid  and  comfortable  ;  outside,  it 
is  made  of  fine  moss,  lichen  and  thistle  buns,  (he  whole 
interwoven  with  small  roots;  inside,  it  is  like  a  soft  elastic 
cushion  made  of  hair,  dry  grass,  feathers  and  wool. 
Goldfinches  like  to  sus|)end  their  nests  on  to  the  most 
flexible  boughs  of  fruit  trees,  so  that  the  slightest  breeze 
swings  their  aerial  home  gently  to  and  fro.  Sometimes, 
however,  they  build  their  nests  on  more  steady  ground, 
such  as  the  hollow  of  a  bush  or  the  heart  of  a  clumj)  of 
green . 

Last  spring,  I  found  two  such  nests  built  close  toge- 
ther in  the  entangled  boughs  of  some  ivy  covering  an  old 
garden  wall.  Each  nest  contained  seven  young  ones, 
—  seven  greedy  mouths  which  opened  wide  as  soon  as 
you  put  aside  the  ivy  leaves.  The  two  families  seemed 
to  be  intimately  united.  Towards  evening,  the  males 
would  come  together  on  a  neighbouring  lawn,  smooth 
ing  their  feathers  and  waibling  tluMr  song  with  (juainl 
uiutions    of   the    head,    just   as    respectable  lowns'people 


THE    GOLDFINCH  35 

come  together  at  nightfall  after  the  day's  work,  in  order 
to  have  a  Httle  gossip  while  enjoying  the  cool  of  the  eve- 
ning on  their  doorsteps.  Meanwhile,  the  busy  females 
were  fluttering  to  and  fro  in  search  of  (lies  and  small 
worms  for  the  supper  of  their  large  family. 

One  day  it  happened  that  the  cat  of  the  family,  Avhich 
had  hidden  treacherously  behind  a  clump  of  lilac  trees, 
took  one  of  the  mothers  by  surprise  as  she  was  leaving 
her  nest,  and  strangled  her.  I  then  witnessed  a  most 
touching  scene,  which  proves  that  charity  is  not  ex- 
clusively a  human  virtue,  and  that  it  can  dwell  even 
in  the  heart  of  an  humble  goldfinch.  The  surviving 
mother  adopted  the  children  of  the  dead  bird.  She  un- 
dertook to  feed  the  two  broods,  and  during  a  whole 
week,  1  used  to  see  her  flying  from  one  nest  to  the  other, 
dividing  the  food  between  her  seven  little  ones  and  the 
seven  orphans. 

The  female  goldfinch  is  an  honest,  valiant  creature; 
she  is  the  very  embodiment  of  self-denial  and  devotion; 
she  shows  a  most  exemplary  attachment  to  her  young 
ones;  the  sun  may  shine  or  the  clouds  burst  in  cold 
hail  showers,  she  remains  sitting  on  her  nest  with  out- 
spread wings,  and  sometimes  after  a  storm,  the  hail  has 
bruised  her  while  she  was  faithfully  attending  to  her  tender 
brood . 

Too  fine  to  work,  the  male  goldfinch,  meanwhile,  scar- 
cely helps    her    in    her    task  ;    he    sometimes    bends  over 


3(3  THE     GOLDFINCH 

llic  nest  whiih  contains  tlie  young  ones  and  Ijeguiles 
his  faitlifiil  mate  \\'\l\\  the  varied  modulations  of  his  clear 
song,  liis  free  and  tender  strain.  This  song  consists  in 
two  strophes,  or  rather  in  a  prehide  and  a  cavatina, 
Avliich  are  separately  executed  at  longer  or  shorter  inter- 
vals. The  melodious  cavatina  is  set  oil  and  enlivened 
by  brilliant  llourishes,  in  which  one  can  distinguish 
three  characteristic  notes  :  Finch  !  Finch  !  Finch  !  which 
come  back  ever  and  anon  like  a  roll-call.  The  male  is 
very  proud  of  his  musical  talent,  just  as  he  is  intensely 
vain  of  his  bright  colours  and  brilliant  plumage.  He 
probably  thinks  that  his  beauty  excuses  him  from 
bemeaning  himself  with  vulgar  household  cares,  and  he 
whiles  away  his  time  in  self-indulgence,  selfishness  and 
voluptuous  idleness. 

^^hen  the  young  ones  are  fledged  and  feathered  and 
strong  enough  to  fly,  the  whole  family  takes  its  flight  to 
the  fields.  The  goldfinch  is  a  high  liver,  an  epicure,  fond 
of  choice  and  savoury  seeds.  In  French  this  bird  is  called 
chardonneret,  that  is,  a  lover  of  thistles,  but  in  spite  of 
its  name,  it  does  not  care  for  thistles,  at  least  not  until 
cold  weather  sets  in  ;  then  it  is  often  obliged  to  be  con- 
tent with  such  meagre  fare.  In  autumn,  these  pretty 
birds  start  of!  in  Hocks  and  go  marauding  about  poppy 
and  rape  fields.  Of  a  very  quarrelsome  disposition, 
they  often  have  a  fight  with  linnets,  who  haunt  the 
same  parts,  but  the  goldfinches  are  generally  victorious  ; 
however,   they  also   meet   titmice    and    these    birds,    with 


T  HE    U  O  L  1)  F  1  N  V  H 


THE    GOLDFINCH  39 

their  sharp  pointed  bills,  are  sure  to  be  most  formidable 
adversaries,  who  cruelly  and  completely  avenge  the  lin- 
nets. Turbulent  and  heedless,  ilying  low  and  close  to 
the  ground,  goldfinches  are  easily  inveigled  into  the 
snares  that  men,  and  cspeciallv  children,  set  for  them. 
Beware  !  then  comes  the  cage  and  the  humiliating  labour 
of  captivity  ! 

The  brilliant  plumage  of  the  goldfinch  makes  him  a 
precious  prey  for  bird-catchers.  Proud  of  his  fine 
appearance,  and  having  the  tastes  of  a  high  liver,  he 
ends  his  career  like  those  pretty  fellows  who  exchange 
their  beautv  and  poverty  for  the  servitude  of  a  rich 
marriage.  W^ien  it  is  once  shut  up  in  its  cage,  the  gold- 
finch will  always  find  its  table  spread  with  an  abundant 
supply  of  millet  and  hempseed,  but  it  has  to  pay  for 
this  delicate  fare  by  servile  manoeuvres.  It  is  taught 
to  fire  a  gun  and  to  feign  death  ;  it  is  obliged  to 
bear  straps  and  to  carry  small  pails  of  water  for  filling- 
its  bath. 

But  these  are  only  some  of  the  steps  on  the  road  to  sla- 
very, the  first,  the  easiest  to  climb.  Not  only  is  the  bril- 
liant goldfinch  obliged  to  earn  his  dinner  by  hard  labour, 
but  he  is  obliged  to  degrade  himself  bv  making  love  to 
a  chattering,  intemperate  canary-hen.  He  becomes  the 
father  of  mongrels,  called  canary-goldfinches ,  whose 
hybrid  plumage  is  odious  to  his  sight.  Then,  as  a  last 
mortification,   the   regimen  of  the  prison  tones  down  the 


40 


THE    GOLDFINCH 


colours  and  tarnishes  that  lustre  of  that  brilliant  garb  of 
wliifh  he  was  so  proud.  His  beautiful  crimson  mask 
takes  an  ugly  sandy  hue,  and  the  bright  golden  spots  on 
his  wings  grow  dull.  The  beautiful,  lively,  merry  bird 
grows  coarse  looking  and  vulgar,  and  if  by  chance  a  wild 
dapper  goldfinch,  proud  of  his  freedom,  passes  near  the 
cage  where  the  ])ooi- prisoner  is  captive,  he  hardly  recog- 
nises a  friend  and  brother  in  the  dull,  coarse-looking,  ill- 
mated  l)ircl,  who  lias  lost  his  golden  spots  behind  his  gra- 
ting and  who  works  like  a  galley-slave,  piteous  to  behold, 
in  the  coiupanv  of  a  jealous  and  peevish  canary-hen. 


THE  LINNET  and  THE  SISKIN      i^ 

On  the  crumbling  walls  of  the  orchard. 
Where  hangs  the  wealth  of  the  broom. 
He  loves  to  sit  in  the  scented  breath 
Of  the  apple  trees  in  bloom. 

He  hides  the  pranks  of  his  springtide  love 
And  his  nest  with  its  chattering  brood, 
In  the  silent  depths  of  an  ancient  wood, 
Whore  he  dwells  in  solitude. 

r 

Lost  in  the  sky,  o'er  the  branches  high 
Of  even  the  topmo.st  tree,  / 

Singing  so  clearly,  singing  so  merrily. 
High  in  the  air  soars  he ! 


THE  LINNET  AND  THE  SISKIN 


Both  these  birds  are  great  seed-eaters. 
Although  their  habits  and  origin  are  dis- 
tinct, it  is  difficult  to  speak  of  them  sejia- 
rately,  for  they  resemble  each  other  in 
many  ways  as  regards  disposition  and  mode 
of  existence.   They  are  both  pleasing  song- 


"^.^  stcrs,  merry  companions  ;  their  temper  is  docile 
;'  ^'^  and  easy,  and  they  can  be  tamed  ^vith  facility. 
These  amiable  qualities  are  sure  to  make  them 
more  easily  the  prey  of  man,  that  false  friend  who  loves 
birds  only  to  put  them  into  a  cage  in  order  to  speculate 
on  them. 

The  linnet,  which  is  very  common  in  our  parls,  is  more 


44  THE    LINNET    AND    THE    SISKIN 

settled  and  homely  in  its  habits  than  the  siskin.  In 
liberty  in  the  -woods  its  plumage  is  bright  and  pleasing. 
Its  head  and  chest  are  of  a  fine  red  colour,  its  back  is 
chestnut  brown,  its  stomnch  reddish  white,  its  wings  and 
the  feathers  of  its  tail  black,  spotted  with  white.  It  is 
smaller  in  size  than  the  goldfinch,  and  its  bill  is  sharper. 
When  it  is  shut  up  in  a  cage,  like  that  bird  it  loses  its  live- 
liness and  the  oddness  of  its  colours.  The  male,  in  a  cage, 
soon  gets  to  look  like  the  female.  The  bright  tints  of  its 
plumage  fade  insensibly;  its  garb  turns  brownish  grey 
spotted  with  rusty  dots  —  a  vulgar  and  sad  livery  of 
bondage. 

These  birds  chose  their  mates  and  build  their  nest  in 
May.  In  wine  countries  they  often  build  their  nest  among 
tlie  vines  on  the  vinepoles ;  in  the  neighbourhood  ol 
forests  they  choose  thickets  of  young  fir  trees,  and  when 
one  crosses  such  a  wood  in  the  time  of  pairing,  one  is  sure  to 
hear  on  all  sides  the  song  of  linnets  that  are  busily  suspen- 
ding their  delicate  dwellings  on  to  the  boughs  of  fir  trees. 
The  nest  consists  of  small  leaves,  roots  and  moss  on  the  out- 
side, inside  of  feathers,  hair  and  plenty  of  wool.  On  this 
soft  bed  the  female  lays  six  bluish  white  eggs,  spotted 
with  nut-brown  at  the  broader  end.  When  the  young 
are  grown  enough  to  take  their  lliglit  the  whole  houseful 
takes  wing  together;  the  whole  clan  of  linnets  congre- 
gates and  starts  off  to  explore  the  orchards  and  groves 
of  the  neighbourhood. 


THE    LINNET    AND    THE    SISKIN  45 

In  spite  of  the  approach  of  the  bad  season  the  flock 
does  not  separate.  All  winter  long  the  numerous  families 
of  linnets  continue  to  live  sociably.  They  glean  some 
scattered  thistle-seed  along  the  by-paths,  perching  on 
poplars  and  lime  trees,  picking  the  young  buds ;  you  can 
hear  them  twittering  in  the  boughs  as  soon  as  the  February 
sun  sends  some  warm  beams  through  the  winter  fogs. 
The  males  only  are  fine  musicians.  They  begin  with  a 
light  prelude  which  however  is  original  only  with  wild 
linnets.  The  captive  birds  repeat  only  those  strains  that 
have  been  drilled  into  them ;  they  are  artists  of  inferior 
quality. 

M.  Gueneau  de  Montbeillard  remarks  a  little  sen- 
tentiously  that  this  is  quite  natural.  «  The  bird  whose 
voice  has  been  formed  in  liberty,  following  only  inner 
emotions,  must  have  more  touching  accents  than  that 
which  sings  without  an  aim,  only  to  kill  time  or  to  exercise 
its  organs)). 

The  truth  is  that  the  art  of  song  does  not  develop  it- 
self spontaneously  even  in  singing-birds,  but  only  by 
education  and  imitation.  In  the  free  state  the  young 
linnet  forms  its  voice  by  hearing  its  father  and  other  males 
of  the  neighbourhood  repeat  the  old  traditional  melodies, 
which  have  been  transmitted  from  one  generation  to 
anothei'.  The  linnets  that  are  born  in  a  cage,  or  in  ihe 
nest  prepared  by  a  bird-catcher,  have  often  no  other 
instructor   than  some    boor  who   whistles    some  popular 


46  THE    LI>>ET    AND    THE    SlSKl.X 

song  for  tlieir  Ijcnefll.  These  music  lessons  generally  take 
place  in  tiic  evening.  Sometimes  the  bird-catcher,  in 
order  to  excite  the  linnets  to  sing,  takes  them  on  his  finger 
and  hold?^  them  np  in  front  of  a  unirror,  where  they  imagine 
seeing  a  hiid  of  iheii-  own  species.  A\'hile  the  master  is 
whistling  his  dilty,  they  ihink  that  they  hear  their  un- 
known companion  ;  this  illusion  makes  them  giddy,  and 
finally  they  all  join  in  the  chorus.  It  is  a  sad  song  of 
captivity  without  savour  oi' peifunie,  and  is  no  more  like 
the  pietty  song  of  the  wild  linnet  than  the  sicklv  lily  of 
the  valley  raised  in  a  hothouse  can  be  compared  to  the 
vigorous  balmy  lilv  of  the  woods! 

One  would  think  that  the  slim  and  livelv  siskin  with 
its  olive-green  plumage  tinted  with  lemon  coloui'.  born  in 
libeilv  and  fond  of  long  travels,  would  have  a  more  inde- 
|)en(lent  character  than  the  linnet.  But  this  is  a  mere 
illusion.  The  siskin  is  like  certain  gypsies  whose  vagrant 
tastes  do  not  exclude  a  certain  fondness  for  servility. 
Although  it  bears  a  slight  resemblance  to  the  titmouse  on 
account  of  its  skill  in  climbing  and  in  picking  seed,  yet 
it  has  not  the  undisciplined  dis[)osition  of  that  valiant 
little  bird. 

It  is  said  that  in  the  free  state  they  build  their  nests 
on  the  islands  of  the  Rhine,  in  the  A'osges  mountains, 
in  Ilungaria,  especially  in  woodv,  mountainous  regions  ; 
but  it  is  very  difficult  to  find  these  nests.  The  birds  hide 
them  so  skilfully  in  a  litter  of  verdure,  that  they  are  said 


LINNETS 


THE    LINNET    AND    THE    SISKIN  49 

to  render  them  invisible  by  depositing  in  them  a  magic 
stone.  They  hide  when  they  are  pairing;  their  wooing 
is  carried  on  mysteriously,  so  that  nothing  precise  is 
known  about  tlie  laying  of  their  eggs.  Being  birds  o\' 
passage,  they  come  to  our  coimtry  at  harvest  time  and 
select  for  their  dwelling  the  banks  of  a  river  where  aldoi- 
trees  grow,  being  very  fond  of  that  seed.  As  soon  as 
cold  weather  sets  in,  they  emigrate  and  do  not  return  to 
France  until  orchards  are  in  full  bloom;  they  are  parti- 
cularly fond   of  apple   tree  blossoms. 

The  flight  of  the  siskin  is  rapid  and  high  ;  but  it  is  as 
impetuous  and  simple  minded  as  the  linnet,  and  is  easily 
caught  in  the  grossest  snares.  A  cage  containing  a  captive 
siskin,  serves  as  a  decoy-bird  ;  some  lime-twigs  set  into 
the  soil  are  sufficient  to  attract  the  giddy  unsuspicious 
wayfarer.  Then  adieu  to  freedom  :  he  will  never  see  again 
the  Vosges  of  Lorraine,  nor  his  mysterious  retreat  in  the 
heart  of  some  fresh,  green  alder-grove. 

In  the  aviary  he  will  meet  some  other  seed-eating 
birds,  such  as  linnets  and  gol  Ifmches,  and  like  them,  he 
will  have  to  submit  to  the  apprenticeship  of  bondage. 
Luckily  his  natural  disposition  is  as  docile  as  theirs  and 
he  gets  easily  accustomed  to  his  new  existence.  Being  pro- 
vided with  board  and  lodging,  fresh  water  in  his  trough, 
and  plenty  of  seed  in  his  manger,  he  cares  little  about 
the  rest.  After  a  short  time  he  will  no  longer  regret  the 
joyous  vagrancy  of  open  air  life. 


50 


THE    LINNET    AND    THE    SISKIN 


He  even  forgets  to  make  love  and  if  perchance  he 
pairs  with  a  canary,  the  ill-matched  marriage  generally 
remains  barren,  and  the  eggs  when  hatched  are  found  to 
be  empty.  The  siskin  loses  its  faculty  of  reproduction  in 
bondage,  and  also  like  the  linnet  and  the  goldfinch  its 
bright  tinted  plumage. 


THE   GOLDHAMMER 

June  is  the  month  of  love,  of  a  truth. 
If  «  red  is  the  colour  of  love  and  youth  !  » 
Strawberries  glow  in  the  burning  noon. 
And  roses  are  red  in  the  garden,  in  June. 

Sunsets  are  red  in  the  skies  at  night; 
Clover  in  meadows  is  crimson  bright ; 
Poppies  also,  like  flames  are  seen, 
Set  ill  the  wheat,  so  cool  and  green. 

Pinks  are  red  in  the  garden  neat ; 
Cherries  in  orchards  are  red  and  sweet; 
And  there  in  the  orchard,  a  thief  is  fed, 
On  ripe  sweet  cherries,  both  white  and  red. 

Clear  in  the  hush  of  the  noontide  heat. 

The  song  of  the  goldhammer  rises  sweet. 

A  thankless  churl  must  the  farmer  be, 

Who  '11  grudge   hiiu  a  meal  from  (he  cherry-tree 


THE   GOLDHAMMER 


It  was  about    Midsummer    in    the    province 
of  Poitou,    al   the   time  of  moAving  hay,  when 
lime    trees    are    covered     with    thousands    of 
sweet-scented  flowers  and  cherries  are  ripe.   1 
was  walking  in  a  very  productive  orchard  with 
a  pretty  girl,  the  niece  of  the  owner    of    the 
pro]3ertv.  The  garden  was  green,  full  of  cherry 
id   other    fruit-trees,   all  laden  with  fruit  and  sit- 
uated near  a  wood  full  of  birds. 
My  companion  was  a   lovely  girl  of  twenty,  my  own 
age;  her   complexion  was  rosy,  her  lips  cherry-red;   she 
was   slender,  delicately   built,    with  beautiful   black   eyes 
and  nut-brown  hair.    I  had  made  her  acquaintance  only 


54  THE    GOLDHAMMER 

the  day  before,  but  in  the  country  and  especially  in 
July,  one  grows  soon  intimate.  The  fresh  morning- 
air,  the  bright  sunshine,  the  delicious  scent  of  new 
mown  hay  which  came  from  the  meadows  set  us  yet 
more  at  ease,  and  we  were  walking  under  the  trees  in 
the  garden  chattering  like  a  couple  of  old  friends.  She  was 
of  a  merry  disposition,  very  inquisitive  and  talkative; 
I  rather  timid  and  of  a  more  romantic  mood,  easily 
inflamed  and  concealing  under  very  awkward  maimers 
a  hilent  tenderness  which  only  demanded  an  opportunity 
to  show  itself  more  openly 

While  we  were  loitering  aboiit,  the  song  of  a  bird 
in  the  bowers  struck  our  ear  —  a  song  consisting  of  short 
phrases,  but  of  an  exquisitelv  mellow  sound.  Wc  could 
only  compare  it  to  the  notes  of  a  golden  llute.  It  was 
a  pure  and  full  sound,  wavering  and  yet  tender  at  the 
same  time. 

The  young  girl  stopped  to  listen. 

«   What  bird  is  that  singing  so  prettily.^  »   asked  she. 

«    It  is  a  goldhammer.  « 

((   Reallv,  what  is  it  like!^  1  have  never  seen  one.  » 

She  made  me  desc-ribe  to  her  the  bird  that  was  so 
fond  of  cherries.  I  tried  to  picture  its  beautiful  yellow 
breast  with  its  black  wings;  its  half  black  and  half 
yellow  tail.  1  tried  to  give  her  an  idea  of  the  goldhammer, 
with  its  broad,  wide  open,  purple-hued  bill,  its  open  nos- 
trils, its  large,   round,  dewy  eye,  red  as  a  heart-cherry 


THE    GOLDHAMMER  55 

and  moist  as  if  it  were  bathed  in  dew,  bewitching  and  ir- 
resistible ;  its  shght  black  mustachio  which  gave  such  a 
piquant  expression  to  its  epicurian  face.  I  told  my 
companion  that  these  birds  come  to  us  in  the  season 
when  red  and  white  heart-cherries  take  colour,  and  that 
they  build  their  nest  in  the  place  where  the  highest 
boughs  branch  off.  They  line  their  nests  delicately  with 
soft  grass  and  spider-webs,  they  suspend  them  like  a 
hammock  between  two  boughs  by  some  supple  but  firm 
ligatures  which  swing  the  nest  to  and  fro  at  the  slightest 
breeze,  thus  adding  a  yet  more  voluptuous  pleasure  to  the 
comfort  of  their  aerial  dwelling. 

«  Cherry-juice  predisposes  to  tenderness  »  I  continued, 
«  and  when  the  goldhammer  has  got  drunk  on  wild 
cherries  and  on  heart-cherries,  he  makes  love  to  his 
sweetheart  in  his  softly  swinging  nest.  » 

My  pretty  companion  laughed  at  this  remark  and 
said  that  she  should  very  much  like  to  see  a  goldham- 
mer. 

I  replied  that  it  is  not  an  easy  matter,  for  the 
greedy  bird  has  a  very  distrustful  disposition  and  is 
rather  unapproachable.  I  told  her  however  that  we  might 
try. 

We  walked  very  stealthily  hand  in  hand  over  the 
thick  grass,  taking  great  precaution  not  to  startle  the  bird 
in  the  cherry-tree,  and  we  drew  near  the  large  tree  from 
which   the    melodious,   flute -like  notes  issued.   \\'e  had 


56  THE    GOLDHAMMER 

hardly  reached  the  foot  of  the  tree  when  the  shy  wild 
bird  took  wing,  but  we  managed  to  perceive  between 
the  leaves  its  slender,  well  built  body  and  its  black 
and  yellow  wings,  which  were  fluttering  as  it  took  its 
flight  towards  the  wood. 

We  had  remained  some  time  near  the  cherry-tree, 
stretching  our  necks,  hand  in  hand,  raising  our  eyes  to 
the  bowers  above  us  where  the  ripe  fruit  was  shining 
between  the  leaves.  They  were  red  and  white  heart-cher- 
ries with  fleshy  pulp  and  inviting  colour.  A  ladder  just 
happened  to  be  standing  against  the  tree. 

«  Let  us  go  and  take  the  place  of  the  goldhammer  ». 
she  suggested,  letting  go  my  hand. 

Pulling  her  skirts  together,  she  lightly  ascended  the 
steps  of  the  ladder,  and  from  the  foot  of  the  tree  1  could 
distinguish  in  the  shade  her  small  feet  half  hidden  under 
her  striped  pink  dress.  Half-  way  up  the  ladder,  she 
turned  around  and  said  with  an  arch  smile  : 

«  Well !   are  you  not  coming  ?  » 

Of  course  I  wished  to  come,  but  1  should  never  have 
dared  to  do  so  without  being  invited.  I  followed  her 
however  blushing ,  and  we  both  soon  found  ourselves  in 
the  heart  of  the  tree. 

The  position  was  very  pleasant,  although  not  very 
comfortable;  at  the  slightest  movement  we  made,  her 
arm  and  her  hair  would  touch  my  cheek,  but  she  was 
laughing,    while  I    was  looking  very   much   constrained 


THE    GOLDHAMMER 


THE    GOLDHAMMER  59 

and  very  foolish.  At  last  she  caught  hold  of  the  trunk 
of  the  tree,  swinging  herself  on  one  of  the  horizontal 
boughs,  sat  on  it  as  if  she  were  on  horseback.  I  did  the 
same  thing,  and  then  we  were  sitting  near  each  other, 
softly  rocked  to  and  fro  on  the  elastic  and  flexible  bough  ; 
only  I  had  no  comfortable  prop  to  lean  against,  as  she 
had,  or  rather  my  only  prop  would  have  been  her  waist 
and  shoulders,  and  I  was  too  stupidly  timid  to  make  use 
of  it. 

How  I  then  envied  the  lightness  and  dexterity  ol 
the  cherry  -  eating  goldhammer!  That  epicurian  bird 
knows  how  to  poise  himself  on  a  bough,  and  that  unsteady 
position  between  earth  and  sky  neither  prevents  him  from 
satisfying  his  greediness  nor  from  making  love  to  his 
sweetheart.  Even  when  the  wind  shakes  the  tree,  he  swings 
with  the  foliage  and  loses  neither  his  appetite  nor  his 
presence  of  mind. 

I  could  not  say  the  same  of  myself  and  in  spite  of 
the  tempting  company  of  my  pretty  neighbour,  I  was 
ill  at  ease  and  more  embarrassed  than  before.  She  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it  and  went  on  merrily  picking  the 
cherries  within  reach  of  her  hand  and  lips. 

«  It  is  very  pleasant  up  here,  do'nt  you  think  so,  said 
she ;  we  are  like  the  goldhammer  and  his  sweetheart  in 
their  swinging  nest.  » 

Did  she  wish  me  to  imitate  the  goldhammer  yet  more 
completely  ?  I  was  too  stupid  to  understand  her ;  besides 


60 


THE    GOLD HAMMER 


it  was  as  much  as  1  could  do  to  keep  myself  poised  on 
the  brancli;  a  few  minutes  after  I  made  a  false  movement 
and  fell  stu})idly  down  at  the -foot  of  the  tree. 

She  burst  out  laughing  —  a  short  nervous  laugh  — 
and  after  having  stuffed  her  pockets  with  cherries,  she 
too  came  down. 

I  was  furious  at  myself,  and  we  took  our  way  home- 
wards in  almost  perfect  silence,  ill-humoured ;  while  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood  the  goldhammer  was  whistling 
his  song  as  if  he  were  laughing  at  my  silliness. 


1 


THE   KING-FISHER 

len  midsummer  sun  burns  fierce  as  flame 
om  dawn  till  eve  in  the  sky, 
ime  down  with  me  to  the  rocky  vale 

re  the  river   glide's  softly  by 
id  under  the  shade  of  the  willow  trees 
The  fishes  in  quiet  lie. 

the  sleepv  shadows  that  fringe  the  stream, 
e  horehound  and  woodbine  spring, 
id  hid  in  the  herbage  green  and  cool, 
ere  nestles  a  wondrous  thing 
That  darts  like  a  fairy  arrow  sped 
1  a  green  and  azure  wing. 

s  wing  just  ruffles  the  glossy  wave, 
1  he  skims  o'er  the  placid  stream  ; 
hold  him,  splendid  in  dazzling  blue, 
t  up  by  the  noontide  beam  1 
he  would  but  stay  !  but  he  vanishes, 
swift  ;is  n  passing  dream. 


■Yi/JfpT-.    I 


THE   KING-FISHER 


During   hot  July   days,   I  often  recall  to 

my  mind   a   certain   wooded  pass    in     the 

forest  of  Auberivc,  where  the  Aube,  yet 

near   its  source,    opens  its  way  between 

steep  crags  under  the  shade  of  hazel-nut, 

ash  trees,    and  beeches.   The   branches   are 

inextricably     interwoven    above     the     little 

river,    so    that   it    is    almost   dark    there    in 

broad    daylight.     A  phosphorescent    light 

filters  through  the   dense    foliage,  and  on  the 

black  soil  —  slimy  alluvia  —  those   plants  abound  that 

are    usually    found    in    damp    places  ;     rows    of  purple 

willows  stand  close  together  on  the  banks  ;   the  woodbine 


64  KING-FISHER 

dips  the  fine  feathered  sprigs  of  its  flesh-coloured  tufts 
into  the  current;  almond-scented  meadow-sweet  perfumes 
the  air,  whilst  the  dark  red  fruit  of  the  wild  raspberry 
bushes  gleam  in  the  darkness. 

1  used  to  scramble  into  the  pass  by  letting  myself 
down  an  almost  impracticable  path,  fit  only  for  goats, 
creeping  like  a  cat  under  bowers  of  entangled  bram- 
bles. In  the  hot  hours  of  the  afternoon  I  used  to  delight 
ill  this  solitude  and  freshness.  The  dark  river  was  mur- 
muring softly  ;  now  and  then,  some  small  bright  drops 
would  rain  down  from  the  overhanging  branches  and 
ripple  the  surface  of  the  water.  It  was  there  that  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  king-fisher. 

The  one  that  haunted  that  peaceful  retreat  had  pro- 
bably built  its  nest  in  the  neighbourhood,  in  the  lurking- 
hole  of  some  fresh-water  crab,  for  1  often  saw  it  shoot 
like  an  arrow  over  the  current.  It  used  to  graze  the  water 
with  a  plaintive  cry  and  then  disappear  suddenly.  I  had 
hardly  time  to  admire  its  back  and  its  greenish  blue  tail, 
its  wings  and  head  covered  with  turquoise-coloured  spots, 
its  fiery-red  breast  and  chest.  At  first,  my  presence  used 
to  disturb  the  wild,  shy  bird  ;  but  after  a  while,  my  dis- 
creet and  peaceful  mood  would  make  it  more  confident, 
and  it  would  finally  circulate  under  the  bushes,  without 
heeding  me  any  more  than  if  I  had  been  the  trunk  of  a 
tree.  I  would  often  perceive  it  in  the  green,  dim  twilight 
of  the  sleeping  river,  perched  motionless  on  a  hazel-nut 


THE    KIXG-FISHER  65 

bough  overhanging  the  current,  its  colours  gleaming  in 
the  shade  like  those  of  some  strange  jewel  set  with 
sapphires,  rubies  and  emeralds. 

There  it  would  perch  for  hours,  with  fixed  gaze  and 
bent  head,  watching  for  the  passage  of  some  small  fry. 
Suddenly  it  let  itself  drop  straight  down  into  the  trans- 
parent water;  then  it  would  reappear  with  some  minnow 
or  stickle-back  in  its  bill,  flying  towards  its  hidden  nest. 
It  happened  sometimes  that  after  having  dipped  several 
times,  it  reappeared  with  nothing  in  its  bill ;  it  would 
then  fly  up  the  current,  uttering  a  low  plaintive  cry  and 
disappear  again  in  search  of  some  nook  more  abounding 
in  fish. 

^^  hy  are  river  birds  almost  always  sad  ?  The  heron, 
the  curlew,  the  snipe  are  melancholy  birds  ;  even  the 
white  wag- tail,  with  its  everlasting  motion  on  the  gravel 
backwards  and  forwards,  looks  like  a  heartsick  creature. 
Is  their  sadness  caused  by  the  influence  of  their  haunts  ? 
Large  ponds  bordered  with  willows  and  reeds,  in  which 
the  wind  whistles,  morning  and  evening  mists,  the 
murmur  of  hidden  forest  springs,  all  these  incite  man  to 
melancholy  ;  do  they  act  in  the  same  manner  on  the 
nervous  system  of  birds  ?  One  is  inclined  to  believe  so. 
However,  for  the  king-fisher  as  well  as  for  the  heron, 
there  is  a  more  prosaic  reason  for  their  peevish  disposi- 
tion :  the  uncertainty  of  their  daily  subsistence,  the 
anxiety  with  which  these  birds  have  to  watch  for  their 


66  THE    KING-FISHER 

prry  for  hours  at  the  same  spot,  are  surely  enough  to 
account  for  it.  When  one's  stomach  is  empty  and  one  has 
to  kick  one's  heels  till  some  problematic  fish  comes 
into  reach  of  one's  bill,  one  is  not  inclined  to  be 
foolishly  merry.  Kven  those  who  follow  this  occupation 
tor  pleasure  and  are  sure  of  finding  a  good  supper  w4ien 
they  come  home,  contract  the  habit  of  nervous  melancholy 
in  the  long  hours  of  watching.  Nearly  all  anglers  are 
predisposed  to  hypochondria. 

The  king-fislier  spends  its  life  in  an  often  deceptive 
quest  after  food,  in  a  painful  struggle  for  existence.  It 
has  hardly  time  to  think  of  love.  Its  nuj)tials  are  of  very 
short  duration  :  it  builds  its  nest  hastily,  deposits  six  or 
seven  white  eggs,  and  as  soon  as  the  young  are  hatched  it 
takes  wing  again  in  search  of  its  daily  subsistence.  In  the 
fine  season,  such  a  life  is  bearable,  but  when  the  winter 
is  severe  and  streams  are  frozen,  it  is  obliged  to  beat  a 
long  time  along  the  banks  of  the  river  before  it  finds  its 
prey,  and  more  than  once  it  drops  down  starved  on  the 
frozen  river. 

Tliis  wild  and  noble-looking  bird  is  a  restless  rover,  a 
lover  of  solitary  strands  and  shady  retreats  ;  he  looks  like 
an  exiled  prince  who  has  been  changed  into  an  animal  by 
some  evil  fairy.  The  Greeks  believed  him  to  be  Alcyone,  the 
daughter  of  Kolus,  that  had  been  metamorjjhosed  into  a  bird. 
In  our  own  time  the  king-fisher  is  still  the  object  of  vague 
superstition  in  some  rural  districts.  As  the  country-people 


T  III:    K  I  X  (J   I'  I  S  1 1  K  11 


THk    KIXG-FISHER  69 

see  it  ordinarily  posted  on  dead  branches,  they  say  that  it 
dries  up  the  wood  on  which  it  perches.  In  Buffon's  time, 
people  had  noticed  that  worms  rarely  prey  upon  its  dead 
body,  and  therefore  good  housewives  attributed  to  it  the 
virtue  of  keeping  away  moths,  and  used  to  suspend  the 
dead  bird  in  the  midst  of  their  woolen  garments. 

But  everything  is  getting  vulgar  and  mean,  even 
superstitions.  In  losing  its  melodious  name  of  Alcyon, 
the  unlucky  king-fisher  has  lost  even  that  poetical  halo 
which  still  shines  after  death. 

Whilst  1  was  giving  myself  up  to  these  reflexions,  the 
hot  July  afternoon  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  sun  was 
already  lower  and  shooting  oblique  beams  under  the  arch 
formed  by  the  beeches,  and  the  rays  were  running  over 
the  black  surface  of  the  river,  like  some  marvellous 
golden-hued  insect.  At  the  same  time  a  breath  of  fresh 
air  was  shaking  the  leafy  bowers,  making  here  and  there 
an  opening  for  the  light  to  pass,  ruffling  the  surface  ot 
the  rivulet  with  golden  ripples.  Then,  little  by  little,  the 
illusion  would  die  away,  and  I  could  only  see  water 
spiders  dancing  a  fantastic  ballet  on  the  placid  waters. 

The  king-fisher  would  again  shoot  across  the  darkness 
like  the  fitful  glimmer  of  a  rainbow.  He  would  turn  ever 
and  anon  about  the  level  of  the  current,  like  an  experienced 
marauder  who  knows  that  the  hours  of  twilight  are  more 
favourable  for  his  sport.  Then  suddenly  he  would  disappear 
under  the  water,  reappear   all   dripping,    carrying  away 


70 


THE     KING-FISHEU 


some  fish  in  his  bill,  whilst  flying  towards  his  nest.  1 
would  hear  a  concert  of  shrill  pipings  in  the  distance, 
issuing  from  the  knotted  roots  on  the  banks  of  the  river. 
It  was  thus  that  the  birdlings  were  welcoming  the  return 
of  the  king-fisher  and  his  booty. 


// 


^ 


THE   SPARROW 

Let  skies  be  cloudy  or  skies  be  blue. 
Little  brown  sparrow,  away  go  you. 
Ever  in  search  of  food  or  fun. 
Come  summer  or  winter,  rain  or  sun. 

Boughs  of  lilac  whereon  to  rest 
April  spreads  when  you  build  your  nest ; 
Autumn  feeds  you  with  golden  corn. 
And  berries  ripe  on  the  wayside  thorn. 

Winter  comes  with  its  frost  and  snow  ; 
Waters  may  freeze  and  winds  may  blow. 
Yet  little  you  reck,  and  nought  you  rue. 
For  every  hand  has  a  crumb  for  you. 

Through  sunshine  to-morrow  and  storm  to-day 
You  go,  like  a  friar  of  orders  gray. 
Finding,  wherever  j-our  fancy  leads, 
A  table  spread  for  the  wanderer's  needs. 


THE    SPARROW 


The  sparrow  is  like  the  lark  a  bird 
more  particularly  found  in  France. 
Whilst  the  lark  represents  certain 
lyrical  sides  of  the  French  race,  its 
dauntless  buoyancy,  its  spirited  live- 
liness, the  sparrow,  is  the  emblem 
of  gallic  petulancy,  of  the  noisy,  jolly 
animal  spirits  of  the  people  of  Paris. 
Therefore  it  is  in  Paris  where  one 
can  best  observe  the  habits  of  these  sharp,  impudent, 
pilfering  birds  of  passage.  They  congregate  in  swarms  on 
the  roofs  of  Parisian  houses,  in  the  noisiest  streets,  in 
the  most  frequented  gardens.  Clad  in  a  grey  and  brown 


74  THE     SPARROW 

costume,  scarcely  brightened  up  by  a  white  and  black  tie 
round  the  throat  and  a  yellowish  line  on  the  wings,  the 
sparrow,  with  its  vulgar  manners,  its  monotonous, 
cry,  makes  no  outside  show;  but  it  is  one  of  these  people 
that  one  must  not  judge  by  its  clothes.  It  is  like  one  of 
those  ugly  persons,  who  are  bewitching  when  their  fea- 
tures are  in  full  play.  The  charm  of  the  sparrow  consists 
in  the  saucy  liveliness  of  its  hazel-nut  coloured  eye,  in  its 
skipping  movements,  in  the  play  of  its  frolicsome  coun- 
tenance and  the  pretty  wagging  of  its  head. 

In  Paris  sparrows  are  in  their  true  medium.  The  Pari- 
sians are  fond  of  them  and  they  are  fond  of  the  Parisians, 
and  the  jolly,  saucy  bird  is  impregnated  with  all  the  faults 
and  all  the  virtues  of  the  population  in  the  midst  of  which 
it  lives  familiarly.  It  loves  the  noisy,  animated  public 
roads;  it  is  fond  of  crowds,  and  it  has  taken  from  the  Ga- 
min de  Paris,  the  taste  of  loitering  about  the  streets  like  a 
vagrant.  It  is  not  very  domestic.  Its  brother,  the  tree 
sparrow,  builds  a  regular  nest  on  a  tree  ;  the  Parisian 
sparrow,  nestles  rather  at  random,  in  the  hole  of  some 
wall,  in  the  gutter  of  a  roof,  or  behind  some  window 
shutter.  There,  hastily,  without  any  artistic  rules  it  piles 
together  all  sorts  of  rags,  bits  of  straw  or  hay,  but  only 
just  what  is  necessary  to  build  and  line  a  nest.  It  does 
not  loiter  long  in  its  dwelling.  The  noises  of  the  street  are 
too  tempting  to  be  resisted.  Presto !  As  soon  as  the 
young  ones  are    feathered,  you  can  see  them  flying  on  the 


THE    SPARROW  75 

paving  stones.  It  is  not  rare;  in  the  Tuileries  or  Luxem- 
bourg gardens  at  the  turning  of  some  shady  walk  to  meet 
a  sparrow,  the  head  of  the  family,  the  young  ones  trudg- 
ing after  the  father,  hopping  and  piping,  and  opening 
wide  their  large  yellow  bill  for  the  father  to  feed. 

Although  the  nest  of  the  Parisian  sparrow  is  far 
from  comfortable,  still  it  is  rarely  empty.  As  soon  as  one 
brood  has  moved  out,  another  one  takes  its  place.  The 
female  sparrow  is  remarkably  prolific,  and  her  progeniture 
can  rival  even  that  of  Mother  Goose's  «  Old  Woman  who 
lived  in  a  Shoe.  »  From  the  beginning  of  May  to  the  end 
of  September  each  couple  has  hatched  at  least  three  broods. 
The  rapid  multiplication  of  these  roguish  birds  is  the 
despair  of  gardeners  and  cultivators.  In  Paris,  where  vine- 
arbours  and  fruit  walls  are  rare,  the  pilfering  disposition 
of  the  sparrows  does  not  draw  on  them  public  reprobation; 
on  the  contrary,  the  population  is  rather  prone  to  encou- 
rage and  to  develop  it  yet  more.  Hardly  a  Parisian  exists 
who  does  not  feed  regularly  a  sparrow  or  two.  The  civil 
service  officer,  the  clerk  going  to  his  office,  the  shop- 
girl on  her  way  to  her  place  of  employment,  stop  on  their 
way  in  the  Tuileries  to  throw  a  handful  of  crumbs  to 
some  band  of  sparrows.  Between  eleven  and  twelve  in 
the  morning  you  can  see  on  all  window-sills  many  chari- 
table hands  preparing  a  meal  for  these  happy  and  amiable 
vagrants. 

Ye    frisky,    talkative   sparrows !    You   are  indeed   the 


76  THE    SPARROW 

spoiled  guests  of  the  great  city,  the  cheerfulness  and  ani- 
mation of  the  Parisian  streets: 

Fearless,  confident  and  bold 

Birds  by  thousands  flying, 

Flapping  every  shining  wing 

Fill  the  air  willi  chattering, 

And  with  fledglings  reared  to  rove. 

Like  themselves,  o'er  field  and  grove. 

Pilfering  where'er  they  go 
What  they  choose  for  forage. 
Whatsoever  farm  or  field 
Garden-plot  or  park  may  yield, 
^^  hether  autumn  reigns  or  spring, 
The  winged  nation  thrive  and  sing! 

•In  the  whole  city  their  cover  is  laid  and  they  know  it 
well  !  They  know  where  the  best  morsels  are  awaiting 
them  and  are  sure  to  be  there  in  time.  It  is  marvelous  to 
see  the  rapidity  with  which  they  communicate  to  one 
another  the  news  of  some  extraordinary  treat.  An  old 
gentleman  was  telling  me  that  every  morning  after  break- 
fast he  was  in  the  habit  of  distributing  bread  crumbs  to 
about  twenty  sparrows.  One  day,  having  exhausted  his 
stock  of  bread,  he  gave  them  cake  instead.  The  sparrows, 
liked  this  change  of  fare  and  probably  told  their  friends 
and  acquaintances  about  the  good  luck  that  had  befallen 
them  ;  for  the  next  day  the  old  gentleman  found  that  he 
had  sixty  guests  instead  of  twenty. 


THE   SPARROW 


THE    SPARROW  79 

Qu'on  aille  soutenir,  apres  un  tel  recit, 
Que  les  betes  ii'ont  pas  d'esprit 

(Let  it  be  said  after  this,  that  birds  and  beasts  have 
no  intelhgence ! ) 

In  I  he  fine  season  they  put  a  cage  on  a  balcony  near 
my  dweUing,  in  which  some  canaries  are  chirping  from 
night  to  morning.  As  soon  as  their  daily  portion  of  mdlet 
and  chickweed  has  been  placed  in  their  cage,  the  spar- 
rows who  have  been  watching  the  proceedings  from  the 
opposite  roof,  hasten  up  shrieking,  and  the  brazen-faced 
creatures  who  know  no  fear,  pick  away  the  best  of  the 
millet  and  chickweed  in  spite  of  the  indignant  cries  and 
protestations  of  the  canaries,  which  only  excite  yet  fur- 
ther the  boldness  of  the  marauders. 

In  summer,  the  life  of  the  Parisian  sparrow  is  a  long 
holiday,  an  uninterrupted  season  of  love  making,  of 
abundant,  and  choice  dinners.  But  summer  does  not  last 
forever.  Gradually,  autumn  is  approaching;  the  leaves  of 
the  chestnuts  fall  with  the  cool  days  of  September. 
Sparrows,  with  their  subtle  scent,  have  a  presentiment 
of  short  and  rainy  days,  of  long,  cold  nights,  of  snow- 
covered  roofs,  of  muddy  streets,  closed  windows,  of  scar- 
cer, and  less  choice  dinners.  You  can  see  them  congregate 
on  the  large  trees  in  squares  and  gardens,  taking  counsel 
together,  ^^'ill  winter  be  there  soon  ?  Will  il  be  severe? 
Is  it  necessary  to  think  seriously  of  leaving  the  country? 
Their    instinct    tells    them    that  yonder,    beyond    the  city 


80 


THE    SPARROW 


gates,  there  are  fields  that  have  been  freshly  sown  with 
good  grain,  and  farms  with  well-stored  granaries.  The 
greediest,  the  least  courageous  birds  decide  to  leave  the 
country,  and  suddenly  you  can  see  flights  of  sparrows 
leaving  the  thin  foliage  of  the  trees  to  emigrate  towards 
the  plains  of  the  provinces  of  Beauce  and  Brie. 

But  the  true  Parisian  sparrows,  those  who  love  the 
big  city  even  in  its  winter  ugliness,  do  not  leave  it.  Brave 
little  creatures  as  they  are,  they  set  at  defiance  all  the  evil 
chances  of  the  winter  season,  quarelling  over  stray  bits 
of  food  under  the  very  hoofs  of  the  horses ;  finally  they 
go  and  rap  with  their  bill  against  the  familiar  windows 
which  just  open  to  throw  some  crumbs  to  these  faithful 
friends  of  good  and  evil  da3's. 


THE   WATER  WAG-TAIL 


Timidly  and  soberly  dight 
In  feathers  of  black  and  white 
We  find  you  hopping  away 
Pert,  brisk  and  gay. 

Women  come  clattering  here 
To  wash  in  the  river  so  clear; 
Yet,  pert  little  Wagtail,  you  dare 
To  stay ;  for  the  noisy  folk  there 
Little  you  care. 

You  love  to  mock  urchius  who  think 
To  catch  you,  and  just  on  the  bi  ink 
Of  the  river  you  stand  and  you  stay 
Till  they  hear  you  :  then,  off  ind  awa\ 
Brisk,  pert  and  gay  I 


// 


i/\'OT 


^ jvV,^  '■  ';y 


.=^^^ 


THE   WAG-TAIL 


Under  this  generic  name  people  often  con- 
found the  ordinary  wag-tail   and   the    dish- 
washer. The  habits  and  costume  of  these  two 
birds    are    however    very    different.    The 
plumage  of  the  wag-tail  is  yellow  with  an 
olive    brown    tint;    it    dwells    in   prairies 
where  cattle    comes  to  graze,  or   it  flutters 
about  in  the  fields  following  the  labourers;  the 
dish-washer  on  the  contrary  is  clothed  in  black 
and  white  and  prefers  to  frequent  shallow  rivulets  or  the 
banks  of  rivers.  They  have  in  common  certain  particular 
traits  of  face  and  gait  :  both  have  a  fine  bill,  thin,  long 


84  THE    WAG-TAIL 

feet,  a  long  tail  which  they  are  incessantly  wagging,  whence 
the  French  name  of  «  hoche-qiieuc  »  (wag-tail)  given  to 
them  in  the  province  of  Lorraine.  They  are  great  de- 
vourers  of  flies  and  gnats;  but  the  dish-washer  prefers 
river-flies,  whereas  the  wag-tail  has  a  weakness  for  large 
blue-bottle  flies. 

The  dish-washer  is  a  friend  of  strands  and  damp  river 
banks;  it  likes  to  haunt  mill-dams  and  the  neighbourhood 
of  washing-places.  Neither  the  noise  of  the  mill-wheel, 
spluttering  about  its  drops  of  white  foam,  nor  the  noise 
of  the  washerwomen  agitating  their  beetles,  can  frighten 
them.  They  trip  with  quick,  nimble  tread  over  stones 
and  gravel;  they  dip  their  feet  into  the  water  and  are 
perpetually  wagging  their  long  white  and  black  tails,  as 
if  they  were  trying  to  imitate  the  motion  of  the  beetles 
on  the  linen. 

These  birds  emigrate  in  winter  and  do  not  return  till 
the  end  of  March.  They  build  their  nest  on  the  ground 
near  hollow  river  banks,  or  under  stakes  of  wood  built 
up  near  the  river.  Their  nest  consists  of  dried  grasses 
and  small  roots,  lined  on  the  inside  with  feathers  and 
hair;  the  female  Avag-tail  lays  four  oi-  five  white  eggs, 
covered  with  brown  spots.  She  is  a  very  good  mother, 
very  proud  of  the  neatness  of  her  dwelling,  which  she 
keeps  most  scrupulously  clean  like  a  very  careful  house- 
keeper. 

\A'hen    the   bird  lings  are  able  to  fly,   the   father  and 


THE    WAG-TAIL  85 

mother  take  them  along  the  banks  of  rivulets  and 
keep  watch  over  them  for  about  a  month  longer.  Quite 
recently,  on  the  banks  of  lake  Annecy  in  Savoy,  I  wit- 
nessed I  he  restless  uneasiness  and  agitation  of  a  couple 
of  wag-tails,  one  of  whose  fledglings  had  got  astray  under 
a  garret-window  and  was  not  able  to  get  out  again.  Not 
only  the  wag-tails  chaperon  their  children,  but  they  teach 
them  to  catch  flies  whilst  they  are  taking  their  flight.  You 
can  see  them  then  rising  by  starts,  turning  round  and 
round,  wheeling  about  by  means  of  their  tail  which  they 
spread  out  like  a  fan  ;  whilst  they  are  fluttering,  they  utter 
a  low,  sharp,  shrill,  redoubled  cry,  having  a  clear,  dis- 
tinct sound. 

The  dish-washer  is  a  very  nervous  bird,  its  vivacity 
is  almost  restlessness.  It  appears  to  be  very  familiar,  and 
yet  it  is  very  difficult  to  catch.  As  soon  as  you  approach, 
it  will  fly  aw^ay  ten  steps  further,  perch  somewhere  else 
wagging  its  tail,  as  if  it  were  setting  the  person  who  is 
pursuing  it  at  defiance ;  then  again  it  will  take  its  flight, 
and  these  proceedings  go  on  for  hours.  One  of  my 
friends,  a  poet,  has  tried  to  characterize  in  a  few  verses 
the  nervous,  deceiving  flight  of  the  dish-washer  : 

EUe  semble.  la  belle, 
Un  maitre  de  chapelle 

Blanc  el  noir, 
Qui  rythme  la  cadence 
Du  mouliu  et  la  danse 

Uii  battoir. 


86  THE    WAG-TAIL 

Elle  couit  sur  le  sable 
Elle  s'envole,  semblable 

All  cit'sir 
Qui  toujours  nous  devance 
Et  qui  fuit  des  qu'on  pense 

Le  saisir... 

(«  Like  a  capel-master,  the  beautiful  bird,  in  black 
and  white  garb,  seems  to  be  marking  the  rythm  of  the  mill 
and  the  motion  of  the  beetles  of  the  washerwomen. 

It  runs  on  the  gravel,  it  takes  its  flight  onward  and 
upward ;  like  our  wishes,  it  flies  off  as  soon  as  we  hope  to 
seize  it.  ») 

The  grey  and  yellow  wag-tails  have  more  pastoral 
habits.  «  The  wag-tail,  which  lives  on  flies,  »  says  old 
Belon,  (( loves  to  follow  cattle,  knowing  that  it  will  find 
food,  and  it  is  perhaps  for  that  reason  that  w^e  have  called 
it  c;  Bergerette  »  (Shepherdess).  It  is  more  sedentary  in 
its  tastes  than  the  dish-washer  and  does  not  leave  us 
even  in  the  bad  season.  In  winter,  it  gets  nearer  to  vil- 
lages, seeks  shelter  near  the  banks  of  ponds  which  freeze 
only  rarely,  and  there,  in  spite  of  cold,  it  sings  a  low, 
soft,  discreet  strain.  As  soon  as  the  month  of  March 
brings  back  the  season  of  field  labour  and  sowing,  you  can 
see  the  wag-tail  following  the  labourer  who  is  pushing 
his  plough,  or  perching  on  mounds  of  fresh  soil  where 
it  is  sure  to  find  an  ample  provision  of  worms. 

In    April    it   begins    to   build   its  nest    in    the   fields  or 
sometimes  in  the  roots  of  some  tree  on  the  banks  of  a 


THE    WAG  TAIL 


THE    WAG-TAIL  89 

rivulet.  The  nest,  placed  on  the  ground,  is  very  much  like 
that  of  the  dish-washer,  as  far  as  choice  of  materials  and 
texture  is  concerned,  only  it  is  interwoven  more  care- 
fully. The  female  lays  six  or  seven  eggs;  they  are  of  a 
whitish  hue  with  yellowish  spots.  W  hen  the  young  ones 
are  fledged,  towards  mowing-time,  the  father  and  mother 
take  them  to  some  new- mown  fields  where  the  cattle 
are  taken  to  pasture. 

Then  begins  an  idyllic  life  for  the  wag-tail.  The  big, 
russet-coloured  oxen  are  lying  about  on  the  short  grass 
of  the  pasture-commons;  around  them,  swarms  of  flies 
are  buzzing,  and  to  the  right  and  left  bands  of  long-tailed 
birds  dart  on  the  insects ,  without  being  in  the  least 
frightened  by  the  neighbourhood  of  the  weighty  rumi- 
nants. Some  of  the  wag-tails  are  daring  enough  to  perch 
on  the  black  horns  of  the  cows.  Others  follow  the  sheep 
dispersed  about  the  commons,  following  the  lead  of  the 
shepherd,  who  walks  ahead,  wrapped  in  his  cloak. 

In  the  XVIII.  century,  when  naturalists  yet  lent  to  the 
animals  they  were  studying  the  sentimental  ideas  that  were 
then  the  fashion,  they  pretended  that  wag-tails  were  so  fond 
of  the  shepherd  as  to  warn  him  when  a  wolf  or  a  sparrow- 
hawk  was  drawing  near.  This  story  is  as  ingenious  and 
pretty  as  it  is  unlikely.  Wag-tails  care  little  about  the  wolf 
of  whom  thev  have  nothing  to  fear;  as  to  the  hawk,  they 
are  very  much  agitated  when  the^  see  it  soaring  above 
the  pasture-commons,  it  is  therefore  only  interest  for  their 


90  THE    WAG-TAIL 

own  preservation  and  not  friendship  for  the  shepherd  who 
does  not  fear  that  bird,  which  causes  their  warning,  for 
a  hawk  will  attack  birds  but  never  flocks  of  sheep. 

All  day  long  the  wag-tail  will  follow  the  herds  in  their 
evolution.  Now,  evening  draws  near  :  the  shadows  of 
the  elms  lengthen  on  the  plains;  light  mists  arise  in  the 
back  ground ;  the  moon  shows  her  crescent  above  the 
dusky  woods ;  the  shepherd  is  blowing  his  horn  to  call 
his  scattered  sheep ;  pushed  by  the  dogs,  the  flocks  rush 
forward  on  the  dusty  road,  bleating  noisily,  the  bellowing 
cows  turn  their  heads  towards  their  stable,  and  in  the 
rear,  hopping  over  tufts  of  grass,  wagging  their  tail  and 
uttering  low,  shrill  cries,  the  wag-tails  accompany  the 
herd  to  the  extremity  of  the  fields. 


THE    STONE-CHAT 

I.ook  vou  how,  stru{;(;Iinp  through  a  watery  sky. 
The  autumn  sun  shines  faintly  on  the  lea. 
KuU  gently  fall,  on  soft  green  moss  to  lie. 
Leaves,  dropping  one  by  one  from  every  tree. 

O'er  all  the  misty  hollows  of  the  plain 
And  moorland  wide,  how  deep  a  quiet  broods  1 
Only  the  faint,  low  music  of  the  rain, 
Breaks  the  sweet  silence  of  these  solitudes. 

See  how  the  shower  has  hung  with  limpid  pearls 
Each  bush  and  thorn  and  spike  of  lovelj-  blue  ' 
Anon  there  comes  a  sudden  gust  and  whirls 
The  gathered  treasure  down,  in  drops  of  dew. 


^j|       Hark  !  yon  red  throated  stone-chat  hopping  nea 
Trills  forth  a  sudden  warble  loud  and  long; 
Bird  of  the  lonely  waste,  how  sweet  and  clear. 
Loved  by  the  listening  shepherd,  is  thy  song ! 


^^ 


in^rt 


THE    STONE-GHAT 


I  had  been  visiting  the  museum  of 
Saint-Malo.  As  I  was  walking  along  the 
well-lighted  rooms,  where  you  can  see 
.  through  the  windows  the  blue  sea,  I 
stopped  at  a  showcase  containing  a  large 
collection  of  birds  belonging  to  that  region, 
such  as  warblers,  titmice,  nightingales, 
blue -breasts,  red-breasts,  etc.  Near  the 
white-tail,  I  saw  another  small  bird,  with  a 
red  breast  and  a  blackhead  marked  with  two  white  spots 
on  each  side  of  the  neck;  the  back  was  black  also,  shaded 
off  with  brown,  just  like  the  tail;  the  wings  of  the  same 
black  colour,  were   delicately   marked   with  a  while  line. 


94  THE    STOiXE-CHAT 

I  recognized  the  stone-chat,  which  they  call  the  hammer- 
er in  my  province,  and  the  description  that  old  Belon 
has  given  of  it  recurred  to  my  mind  :  a  You  can  see  it 
perching  on  the  highest  tree-tops,  constantly  flapping  its 
wings,  on  account  of  this  unceasing  restlessness  they  call 
it  traquet  or  mill-clapper;  for  as  the  mill-clapper  never 
stops,  as  long  as  the  mill-stone  is  grinding,  so  this  restless 
bird   is  for  ever  flapping  its  wings,  » 

Satisfied  with  having  seen  the  stone-chat  again,  I  left 
the  museum,  recalling  to  my  mind  the  pretty  countenance 
of  that  lover  of  bushy  moors.  I  crossed  the  narrow  streets 
of  Saint-Malo,  lined  on  each  side  with  tall  houses,  and 
I  was  drawing  near  the  sunshiny  quays,  where  1  could  see 
the  outlines  of  multitudes  of  masts,  clearly  defined  on 
the  surface  of  the 'greenish  white  sea.  The  wind  had 
risen,  the  boats  were  dancing  along  the  slips,  and  1  could 
perceive  beyond  the  wall  of  the  quay  the  tops  of  their 
masts  rocking  to  and  fro.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
bay,  Dinard  was  spreading  out  in  the  sun  its  terrace-like 
gardens  and  its  Italian  villas.  The  boats  were  now  leaving 
the  slips  and  taking  advantage  of  the  wind  to  sail  towards 
the  river  Ranee.  The  steam  ferry  boat,  filled  with  pas- 
sengers, was  slowly  crossing  the  bay,  leaving  behind  it  a 
long  wake  of  white  foam.  The  animation  which  seemed 
to  reign  on  the  water  and  in  the  air  induced  me  to  take  a 
trip  also  ;  so  1  jumped  into  a  boat,  and  told  them  to  take 
nie    to    the   Point  of  Vicomte.   There,   1   climbed  up  the 


THE     STOXE-CHAT  95 

woody  slope  and    found  myself  soon   in  the  middle  of  a 
large  moor. 

The  pasture-commons  were  bordered  by  thick  hedges 
of  brambles  and  woodbine  ;  these  commons  stretch  to  a 
long  distance,  separated  here  and  there  by  some  rallior 
barren  fields,  where,  nevertheless,  a  meagre  crop  of  gol- 
den corn  and  light  yellow  oats  was  growing,  marking 
light  sj)ots  on  the  vast  extent  of  the  moor.  1  was  turning 
my  back  to  the  bay  which  was  hidden  from  my  view  by 
a  wood  of  beeches,  but  1  could  hear  the  low,  rythmical 
rising  and  heaving  of  the  sea.  On  a  holly-covered  hill,  a 
shepherd  was  watching  his  russet-brown  cows  buried  up 
to  their  knees  in  the  greyish  verdure  of  the  furze.  A  ])io- 
found  silence,  a  great  calm  was  reigning  all  around  ;  even 
the  light  seemed  to  be  toned  down,  the  sun  being  veiled 
by  white  clouds.  Suddenly,  I  heard  a  low  cry  repeated 
several  times  :  Ouip !  tiay  !  tiay  !  Ouip!  tiay,  tiay  !  And  a 
few  steps  off,  swinging  contentedly  on  a  bit  of  woodbine, 
I  perceived  my  birdling  of  the  museum,  with  its  russet- 
brown  breast,  the  stone-chat  of  the  she])herds. 

Perched  on  its  unsteady  stem,  already  impatient  to 
take  its  flight,  it  flew  by  short  starts  towards  another 
branch,  where  it  would  remain  a  few  minutes  and  tlien 
leave  again  for  some  other  bough.  It  represented  jierjie- 
tual  motion.  .Uthough  it  never  soared  high,  its  bhick  teet 
never  seemed  to -touch  I  he  branches,  and  they  seem  to 
belono-  lather  to  llie   air  than   to  the  qronnd.    While  th(^ 


96  THE     STONE-CHAT 

stone-chat  was  continually  dancing  on  the  flexible  stems 
of  the  brambles  and  woodbine,  it  seemed  to  be  perfectly 
happy,  uttering  now  and  again  its  low,  cry  :  Ouip  !  tiay, 
I  lay  !   Ouij)  !  tiay,  tiay  ! 

The  stone-chat  builds  its  nest  in  waste  land,  among 
ihc  roots  of  entangled  bushes;  it  hides  its  nest  caiefully 
and  enters  it  stealthily,  like  a  lover  who  fears  to  be  seen 
when  he  visits  his  mistress.  The  female  lays  five  or  six 
eggs  of  a  bluish  green  colour,  with  slight  russet-coloured 
spots  ncai-  the  broader  end.  As  soon  as  the  young  ones 
arc  halcluHl,  the  stono-chat  takes  great  care  not  to  be 
seen  entering  or  leaving  its  nest.  It  never  dares  to  go 
near  it  without  having  made  its  way  through  the  neigh- 
bouring bushes,  so  as  to  render  the  search  of  ill-inten- 
tioned ])eo])le  entirely  fruitless,  at  least  as  much  as  lies  in 
its  power.  \A'hen  it  leaves  its  nest,  it  takes  the  same  precau- 
tions as  on  entering  it  ;  it  ojides  under  the  branches  till  it 
gets  to  a  certain  distance,  so  that  one  never  knows  the 
exact  place  of  its  nesting,  and  it  is  necessary  to  search  along 
the  whole  hedge  to  be  able  to  discover  any  trace  of  it. 

People  who  are  so  exceedingly  mistrustful  are  rarely  of 
a  very  sociable  disposition.  Excej)t  in  pairing-time,  the 
stone-chat  lives  in  solitary  retirement,  u  It  does  not  fly  in 
company  with  others  ;  it  is  always  alone,  »  says  Belon  ; 
((  nevertheless,  in  the  fields  it  is  easily  approached,  and 
only  flies  to  short  distances,  without  appearing  to  take 
any  notice  of  the  hunter.  » 


THE    STONE-CUAT 


THE    STONE-CHAT  99 

The  stone-chal  that  I  liad  been  following  on  the  moor 
of  \  /cofnt<^  dkl  not  seem  in  the  least  to  pay  any  attention 
to  my  presence.  It  continued  to  liop  over  the  furze  and 
the  holly,  chirping  and  fluttering  all  the  time.  It  took  me 
thus  a  long  distance,  stopping  now  and  then  as  if  it  were 
waiting  for  me,  and  then  starting  off  again  as  soon  as  I  got 
u|)  to  it.  Above,  the  whke  and  blue  marbled  sky  was 
shedding  a  soft  light  over  the  moor.  Beyond  the  pasture- 
commons,  above  the  foliation  of  the  bushes  which  bent 
back  and  seemed  to  have  been  clipped  by  the  seawind 
as  by  a  hedge-bill,  I  could  perceive  the  bluish  waters 
of  the  Ranee ;  and  on  the  o[)posite  shore,  the  slate- 
covered  cupola  of  the  church  of  Saint-Servan,  the  tower 
of  Solidor,  the  white  villas  of  Dinard,  embowered  in 
verdure;  then,  behind  a  rocky  point,  the  elegant  spire  of 
Saint-Malo;  lastly,  quite  in  the  background,  the  foamy 
sea,  dotted  with  brown  rocks,  on  which  innumerable  sails 
were  flying.  I  was  yet  listening  to  the  small,  solitary  bird 
humming  its  short  song  in  this  immensity,  and  I  felt  a 
sensation  of  serene  joyousness  in  the  presence  of  these, 
silent  spaces  of  sky,  earth,  and  air,  animated  only  by 
the  dull  chirping  of  this  small  creature,  at  once  so  wild 
and  so  familiar.  I  envied  its  vivacity  and  sprightliness.  I 
watched  it  as  it  fluttered  above  the  furze,  where  the  cows 
were  still  grazing,  half  hidden  in  the  verdure.  Everything 
seemed  to  be  living  and  breathing  with  the  placid  uncon- 
cern of  creatures  and  inanimate  things   that  are  sure   of 


100 


THE    STONE-CIIAT 


seeing  again,  on  the  morrow,  the  spectacle  that  they  saw 
the  day  before ;  moving  slowly  in  the  same  circle  ot 
pleasant,  monotonous  occupations. 

Suddenly,  the  stone-chat  took  a  quicker,  longer  flight 
towards  the  river;  I  could  distinguish  it  like  a  black  spot 
on  the  surface  of  the  blue  water;  then  1  lost  sight  of  it  and 
remained  alone  on  the  green  moor  facing  the  sea,  now  ris- 
ing with  a  murmur  as  soft  and  as  low  as  a  nurse's  lullaby. 


THE  NUT-HATCH 

AND    THE    LESSER    WOOD-PECKER 


If  you  have  ever  rested  under  the  shade  of 
large    forest   trees,    on    some   fine    summer's 
day,  you   must  have  witnessed    the  amusing- 
gymnastics  of  the  birds  of  the  family  of  small 
climbers,     such    as    the    lesser    red    wood- 
pecker,   the    nut-hatch,     the  spotted  wood- 
pecker,   and   1   should   even  say  the  golden 
crowned  wren  and  the  titmouse,  if  I  were  not 
going   to   speak   of  these    last    in   a    separate 
chapter.   In  the  distance,  in  the  solemn  silence  of  the  big- 
forest,   you   can   hear    the   shrill   cry   and   picking-   of  the 
large  climbers :   the  green  wood-pecker,    the  great  black 


104  THE    xM'T -HATCH 

nut-hatch  and  tlie  lesser  wood-pecker.  The  small  people 
of  this  family  make  less  noise,  but  accomplish  perhaps 
more.  They  only  utter  now  and  liien  low  cries  of  appeal, 
running  along  the  branches  and  destioying  numberless 
caterpillars,  larvae  and  eggs  of  various  insects. 

The  lesser  red  wood-pecker  has  the  brightest  colours. 
Its  spotted  black  and  white  ])lumage  is  set  off  by  a  pure 
red  spot  on  the  top  of  its  head.  It  is  hardlv  of  the  size  of  a 
sparrow.  Like  the  large  witwall,  it  has  all  the  distinctive 
traits  of  the  boldest  climbers  :  a  hard  bill,  a  long  and 
moveable  back  nail;  its  tail  feathers  are  rugged  and  strong- 
enough  to  be  used  as  a  prop,  wiien  the  bird,  hanging  with 
its  back  downward,  redoubles  the  clatter  of  its  bill  against 
the  boughs.  It  does  not  climb  very  high,  but  circulates 
around  the  trunk  of  trees  with  marvelous  agility.  In  the 
fine  season  it  builds  its  nest  in  rotten  trees  where  damp- 
ness has  made  holes  in  the  boughs;  it  often  has  to  fight  for 
these  lodgings  with  tlie  great  black-headed  titmouse  ;  this 
latter  bird,  however,  not  being  so  strong  as  the  wood- 
pecker with  its  sharp  bill  and  nails,  is  obliged  to  leave 
the  field  of  battle.  Like  the  great  wood-pecker,  the  female 
lesser  red  wood-pecker  lays  three  white  eggs  in  this  rudi- 
mentary nest,  which  she  patiently  hatches  on  a  bed  of 
wood-dust.  These  birds  do  not  emigrate.  In  winter  they  keep 
near  habitations  and  like  to  frequent  orchards,  where  they 
carefully  pick  all  the  fruit-trees  they  can  find.  This  ferreting 
and  picking  propensity  develops  prudence  and  ingenious- 


THE    LESSER    WOOD-PECKER  105 

ness  in  the  wood-pecker.  Its  disposition  is  cunning  and 
distrustful.  It  is  difficult  to  perceive  this  bird  in  the  woods  ; 
as  soon  as  it  has  the  presentiment  that  a  stranger  is  ap- 
proaching, it  remains  motionless  behind  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
and  you  can  scarcely  perceive  a  bit  of  its  head,  in  which 
an  arch  eye  is  glistening.  When  it  is  going  to  take  a 
drink,  it  flies  up  to  the  pond  very  slowly,  by  starts,  and 
silently.  Then  it  descends  from  tree  to  tree,  until  it  rea- 
ches the  water,  turning  its  head  every  minute,  like  a  thief 
who  has  been  pilfering  and  is  afraid  of  being  caught. 

The  nut-hatch  has  often  been  confounded  with  the 
group  of  wood-peckers,  but  it  differs  from  them  in  many 
respects.  In  Lorraine  they  call  the  nut-hatch  «  Pic  macon  », 
and  in  some  other  provinces  «  Pic  bleu  »  (blue  wood- 
pecker). It  has  their  strong  bill,  but  its  tail  is  not  so  stiff; 
its  own  tail  is  moveable  like  that  of  the  white  wag-tail;  this 
latter  circumstance  makes  the  gait  of  the  nut-hatch  much 
more  elegant  and  supple  than  that  of  the  wood-peckers. 
It  is  of  the  same  size  as  the  lesser  red  wood-pecker  and 
its  feet  are  like  those  of  the  last-named  birds  provided 
with  hooked  nails.  The  head,  back  and  tail  of  the  male 
nut-hatch  are  of  a  fine  ash-blue  colour ;  its  throat  and 
cheeks  are  whitish  ;  its  breast  and  stomach  orange 
coloured;  its  wings  brown  with  dark  grey  edges,  lis  bill 
is  awl-shaped,  rounded  off  at  the  end,  straight  and  resist- 
ing like  forged  steel;  for  this  reason  the  nut-hatch  can 
hammer  and  pick  the  bark  of  trees,  making  a  great  noise, 


106  THE     NUT-HATCH 

and  when  it  holds  a  nut,  it  pierces  the  fruit  easily;  thence 
its  English  name  of  nut-hatch. 

It  runs  over  the  boughs  of  trees  in  every  direction, 
hanging  often  with  its  head  downward,  in  search  of  cater- 
pillars and  small  grub.  It  choses  its  dwelling  ordinarily 
in  the  depths  of  the  forest  where  it  leads  a  most  indus- 
trious, solitary  life.  It  is  a  silent  bird.  The  only  cry  it 
utters  when  pursuing  insects  is  a  soft  murmur  :  ti  !  ti  !  ti  ! 
Sometimes  it  introduces  its  bill  into  the  bark  of  a  tree, 
making  a  peculiar,  loud,  jarring  noise,  as  if  it  wished  to 
frighten  the  prev  it  is  pursuing,  and  to  take  advantage  of 
its  disarray  to  surjirise  it  more  easily.  In  spring,  the  male 
nuthatch  has  a  peculiai-  cry  like  a  roll-call :  guiric  !  guiric  ! 
it  repeats  this  crv  constantly  when  calling  its  sweet-heart. 

As  soon  as  pairing  has  taken  place,  the  husband  and 
wife  both  busily  arrange  the  nest,  which  they  have  Iniilt 
in  the  holes  of  a  tree.  If  the  opening  is  too  large,  they 
build  it  up  with  mud,  leaving  only  sufficient  room  for  their 
own  egress  and  ingress;  they  consolidate  this  masonry  yet 
mor(^  l)v  mixing  some  pebbles  with  mud,  and  that  is  why 
this  bird  in  Fiance  is  often  called  «  Pic  macon  ».  In  this 
obscure  nest  the  female  lays  five  or  six  greyish  eggs, 
with  I  usset  coloured  spots.  It  hatches  them  assiduously, 
whilst  the  male  goes  to  look  for  food.  The  young  ones  are 
hatched  in  May,  and  as  soon  as  they  are  strong  enough  to 
seek  their  own  subsistence,  the  family  separates.  «  Peasants 
have  observed,  »  says  the  naturalist  Belon,  «  that  the  male 


/?iU/C^f/W^^  ■^^ 


THE    NUT-HATCH 


THE    LESSER    WOOD-PECKER  109 

hird  heats  the  female  wlien  he  finds  her  after  she  has  let't 
him.  There  is  a  proverh  ahout  people  who  live  happily 
together  in  matrimony,  that  they  resemble  the  nut-hatch  ». 
From  this  we  can  conclude  than  in  the  opinion  of  ihe  old 
naturalist  the  happiest  matches  would  be  those  where  the 
wife  likes  to  be  beaten. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  family  life  among  the  nut-hatches 
does  not  seem  to  be  of  long  duration  after  the  young  ones 
are  hatched.  ^^  hen  autumn  draws  nigh,  each  male  takes 
its  own  way.  Sometimes  they  meet  later  in  the  season 
under  hazel-nut  trees  ;  they  do  not  recognize  each  other 
but  pick  and  quarrel  over  some  fresh  kernel. 

The  lesser  spotted  wood-pecker  is  yet  smaller  than  the 
nut-hatch  ;  it  is  nearly  of  the  same  size  as  the  wren  and 
has  the  extreme  agility  of  that  little  bird.  Its  plumage  is 
grey  and  russet  coloured  ;  its  throat  is  pure  white  and  its 
head  has  a  brownish  tinge.  It  dwells  the  whole  year  where 
it  was  born,  in  holes  of  trees ;  there  it  establishes  its 
brood  and  spends  its  days  picking  at  moss  in  the  cleft 
bark  of  trees.  It  runs  over  the  boughs  so  rapidly  that  it  is 
often  confounded  with  the  troglodyte.  It  is  marvelously 
skilful  in  gymnastics,  and  a  most  ingenious  destroyer  of 
caterpillars  ;  it  ought  to  be  venerated  by  all  those  who 
are  fond  of  sylviculture.  It  inspects  the  trees,  branch  after 
branch,  living  on  the  leaf-covered  stems,  exploring  them 
head  downwards,  or  in  every  other  imaginable  position. 
On  and  under  the  leaves,   in  everv  chink  or    cleft  of  the 


110* 


1  11  E     N  U  1  -HATCH 


boughs,  it  liiids  thus  the  grub  and  flies  which  constitute 

its  food. 

All  these  lesser  climbers  have  quick  movements  and 
a  low  discreet  voice  ;  they  are  the  life  of  thickets  and 
large  forests,  where  singing  birds  seldom  penetrate.  They 
animate  the  depths  of  the  great  woods.  Their  light,  easy 
movements  harmonize  with  the  creaking  of  boughs  and 
branches,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  the  murmur  of  springs 
in  the  moss,  the  dull  humming  of  insects,  and  all  those 
thousand  minute  voices  of  the  forest,  which  apparently 
silent,  are  yet  never  quite  dumb. 


THE   LARK 

tliou  sweet  songster  of  the  summer  sky, 
ow  joyous  is  the  Song,  that  from  on  higli 
lou  pourcst  down,  to  glad  the  listening  wold, 
lark !  sweet  songster  of  the  summer  sky ! 

straight  as  an  arrow  speeding  to  its  mark 

I   |i  to  the  noonday  sun  thou  soars't  sweet  lark  ; 

Leaving  the  mists  below  thee,  gray  and  cold 

Thou  the  sweet  songster  of  the  summer  sky 


High  iu  the  blue,  still  as  a  floating  cloud, 
lovering  o'  er  earth's  wide  pastures,  sweet  and  louj 
Thou  singest;  and  all  the  azure  heaven  is  loud 
With  the  resounding  music  of  thy  song 

\     0  lark  !  sweet  songster  of  the  summer  sky  ! 


THE  LARK 


When  I  was  twenty  years  old  and 
living  in  a  country  town,  several 
friends  and  I  hired  a  small  place  near 
the  town;  it  had  a  garden  where  we 
had  the  intention  of  studying  practi- 
cal horticulture  seriously.  We  used 
to  meet  there  early  in  the  morning  on 
fine  summer  days,  and  we  set  to  dig- 
ging, watering  plants  and  weeding, 
thus  spending  in  physical  labour  the 
"-^  fulness  of  our  exuberant,  youthful  days. 

Sometimes  we  would  spend  the  whole  day  in  the  woods 
and  sit  down  to  dine  in  excellent  appetite,  after  having 


114  THE    LARK 

roasted  a    leg    of    mutton    as    well    as   we   could   in   the 
open   air. 

One  evenino",  1  decided  on  spending  the  whole  night 
in  the  same  quarters  and  1  settled  myself  comfortably 
in  a  hammoclv ,  suspended  on  the  cross-beams  of  the 
thatched  roof  of  our  rustic  dining-room.  I  fell  asleep  abont 
eleven  o'clock.  The  night  was  deliciously  warm,  embalmed 
by  the  scent  of  pines  ;  across  the  murmuring  branches  my 
sleepy  eyes  could  yet  distinguish  the  golden  stars  twinkling 
in  the  sky  above  my  head ;  my  sleeping-chamber  was 
exceedingly  comfortable  and  I  slept  soundly  all  night 
through,  until  the  first  faint  glimmer  of  dawn.  The  fresh- 
ness which  always  falls  in  woods  at  sunrise  having  awaked 
me,  I  jumped  out  of  my  hammock  and  began  to  walk  about, 
so  as  to  restore  suppleness  to  my  benumbed  members. 

The  coppice  was  yet  silent.  Fine  drops  of  pearly  dew 
were  hanging  on  the  leaves  and  the  blades  of  grass,  so 
that  the  gossamer  threads  between  the  brambles  seemed 
to  be  covered  with  diamonds.  When  I  reached  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  wood,  I  was  suddenly  cheered  by  a  joyous 
strain  which  seemed  to  drop  from  the  pearl-gray  sky.  On 
the  whole  extent  of  the  plain  which  lay  waving  before  me, 
hundreds  of  larks  were  taking  their  flight  from  among 
the  barley  and  oat  fields,  rising  in  short  windings  and 
soaring  upwards  towards  the  blue,  slightly  shaded  sky. 
I  could  see  their  small  brown  bodies  rising  whilst  they 
were   iluttering  in   their  aerial  ascension  ;   then  suddenly 


THE    LARK  115 

they  twinkled  in  a  ray  of  sunshine  and  I  lost  sight  of 
them  in  the  heights  ot  the  blue  heavens. 

1  could  no  longer  distinguish  them,  hut  their  strain, 
with  its  merry,  crystalline  notes  was  still  resounding  in  the 
air.  You  would  have  thought  that  the  blue  space  above 
had  suddenly  become  melodious  and  was  singing  ihat 
lovely  song.  Now  and  then  a  lark  would  drop  down  from 
the  heights  of  the  clouds,  straight  as  a  plumb-line  ;  within 
one  foot  from  the  soil,  it  would  make  a  winding  so  as  to 
crouch  in  some  furrow.  Another  lark  would  then  soar 
upwards  twittering,  and  all  along,  from  the  gray  plain  to 
the  luminous  sky  above,  there  was  a  constant  forward  and 
backward  motion  of  sonorous  voices  and  fluttering  wings. 

Never  had  a  bird's  song  given  me  a  fresher  and  a  more 
delicious  sensation  than  this  charming  serenade  at  dawn, 
and  ever  since  that  delightful  morning  in  the  woods,  I 
began  to  love  larks. 

These  birds  are  untiring  musicians.  Other  birds  sing 
but  two  months  in  the  year  in  spring;  but  larks  never 
tire  of  charming  the  aerial  spaces.  From  early  April  to 
October  they  never  cease  their  joyous  strain.  On  the  ground 
they  are  mute,  but  as  soon  as  they  begin  to  wing  their 
flight  upwards,  they  become  melodious.  The  higher  they 
soar,  the  more  strength  their  voice  acquires.  They  seem  to 
be  animated  and  inspired  by  liglit.  It  is  not  only  love  that 
develops  their  voice,  as  it  is  with  other  singing  birds;  they 
continue  their  song  long  aflci'  the  broods  are  halchcd,  till 


116  THE    LARK 

the  latter  end  of  autumn.  Gnosneau  dc  Montbeliard  thinks 
that  hirlvs  sing  so  long  only  to  sustain  each  other,  and  to  per- 
suade themselves  that  they  are  strong  enough  to  keep  birds 
of  prey  at  a  distance.  This  explanation  is  very  ingenious, 
but  it  does  not  (piite  satisfy  me.  Of  course  I  am  aware  that 
children  and  coNvards  arc  in  the  habit  of  singing  ^Yhen 
thcv  aic  crossing  a  wood  at  nightfall,  to  give  themselves 
courage,  in  spite  of  this,  I  have  too  great  a  faith  in  the  in- 
telligence of  larks  to  believe  them  capable  of  making  use 
of  such  a  childish  proceeding.  To  sing  as  loud  as  one  can, 
even  in  company,  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  a  very  prac- 
tical means  of  diverting  the  attention  of  gerfalcons  and 
sparrow-hawks.  I  prefer  believing  that  the  open  air  and 
the  sunlight  exhilarate  the  larks  and  thus  develop  their 
musical  powers  exceedingly.  Generally  the  male  sings 
loudest  and  best,  so  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
female;  when  he  has  discovered  the  one  he  was  seeking, 
he  dashes  down  precipitously  and  pairs  with  her. 

As  soon  as  courtship  and  pairing  are  over,  the  female 
builds  her  nest  between  two  clods  of  soil  and  lines  it 
inside  with  dry  grasses.  She  lays  four  or  five  spotted  eggs, 
brown  or  gray,  which  she  hatches  hastily.  As  soon  as 
the  young  ones  are  feathered,  they  leave  their  nest  and 
roam  about  the  fields  under  the  lead  of  the  mother,  and 
this  promptness  often  misleads  those  who  are  hunting  for 
bird's  nests. 

The  readiness  with  which  young  larks  leave  their  nest 


T  1 1  K    r.  A  R  K 


THE    LARK  119 

after  they  are  hatched,  has  not  escaped  the  attention  of 
the  fabuhst  La  Fontaine.  Much  has  been  said  to  disparage 
his  sense  of  observation,  but  notwithstandino-  this  he  was 
a  close  observer  of  the  things  of  nature,  hi  llie  well-known 
fal)lc  :  «  The  Lark  and  her  young  »,  he  has  remained  faith- 
ful to  truth  wlien  he  speaks  of  the  rapidity  with  which  tlic 
mother  «  lays  her  eggs,  broods  and  hatches  them  hastily  », 
and  the  firmness  with  which  the  mother  commands  her 
young  ones  «  to  march  off  in  silence  »  as  soon  as  the  owner 
of  the  field  has  declared  his  last  intentions  to  his  son,  is 
justified  by  a  close  observation  of  the  liabits  of  larks  and 
the  system  of  education  applied  to  their  young. 

Whilst  these  are  tripping  over  the  stubble  fields,  the 
mother  keeps  flying  about  them  with  constant  care  and 
solicitude.  She  feeds  them  with  worms,  caterpillars,  ant's 
eggs  and  grasshoppers.  This  however  is  only  tlie  food  of 
their  infancy,  for  as  soon  as  they  arc  grown,  they  become 
granivorous  and  seek  their  subsistence  in  vegetable  food. 
In  summer,  during  courtshi|)  and  pairing,  tlie  season  of 
song  and  of  bold  soaring  upwards,  larks  are  very  lean  ; 
but  they  make  up  for  lost  time  towards  autumn,  when  they 
live  more  on  the  ground;  eating  at  all  hours,  they  then 
grow  plumj)  and  fat. 

Then  comes  the  critical  moment  of  their  existence  ; 
man  begins  to  hunt  and  to  decimate  them.  He  hunts  them 
in  every  imaginable  way,  with  nets,  with  a  mirroi-;  he 
uses  every  means  to  destroy  these  charming  birds ;  although 


120 


THE     LARK 


they  render  such  marked  service  to  agriculture  by  de- 
vouring- all  kinds  of  injurious  insects.  It  is  true  that  hun- 
ters j^retend  that  they  also  devour  grain,  hut  this  accusation 
is  but  a  stupid  pretext  for  roasting  pitilessly  thousands  of 
these  small  birds  on  a  spit.  If  there  is  no  stop  put  to  this, 
the  whole  species  will  soon  be  destroyed,  and  then  the 
jovous  strain  of  the  skylark  will  no  longei-  resound  in  the 
air.  The  pitiless  peasant,  will  be  astonished  at  the  silence 
of  the  plain  ;  he  will  regret  the  merry  little  l)ird  whose 
jovous  song  charmed  his  rude  labour  of  ploughing  and 
sowing. 


SJ^'jSi?-?'-:^ 


t 


THE    RED-START 


In  the  porch  of  an  empty  cottage, 
In  a  hole  in  the  granite  wall, 
K  the  place  that  the  Redstart  chooses 
For  his  nest  so  soft  and  small. 

On  the  crumbling  walls  of  a  ruin. 
Where  wallflowers  bloom  in  the  spring. 
It  is  safe,  in  the  quiet  woodlands. 
To  open  his  heart  and  sing. 

He  knows  that  mankind  are  traitors, 
And  foes  to  birds  of  the  air, 
\nd  in  depths  of  the  briars  and  brushwood 
He  hides  from  the  fowler's  snare. 


>■ 


THE   RED-START 

AND     THE     BLUE -BREAST 


Although  these  two  birds  dilVer  ui  colour, 
thcv  have  nevertheless  more  than  one  point 
in  common  :  they  arc  hotli  fine  singers, 
^vilh  delicate  hills  and  voluble  throats  and 
a  soft,  lovely  eye;  both  are  fond  of  soli- 
tude. Hying  from  noise  and  loving  intimacy; 
they  come  to  us  in  spring  and  emigrate   \\\ 

autumn. 

The  red-start,  which  is  called  red-wing  in 
some  countries,  is  smaller  in  size  than  its  cousin  the  night- 
ingale; its  throat  and  nccU  arc  brown,  as  well  as  the  line 
round  .is  eyes;    a  brown   rr,.nllcl  c-overs  its  forehead;    the 


124  THE     RED-START 

top  of  the  head  and  its  back  are  dark  grey,  the  breast  of  a 
fine  russet  red,  and  this  bright  hue  is  repeated  on  the  whole 
extent  of  its  tail  feathers,  excepting  the  two  middle  ones 
which  are  brown.  But  all  these  tints  are  much  less  marked 
and  much  toned  down  in  the  female  red-start. 

These  birds  are  especially  to  be  found  in  mountainous 
regions  ;  they  prefer  to  settle  down  in  abandoned  huts  or 
on  the  roofs  of  empty  dwellings.-  Ruins  attract  them;  they 
harmonize  with  the  wild,  untamed  disposition  of  the  red- 
start. There  they  find  ivy-covcrcd  walls,  tufts  of  wall- 
flowers, entangled  brambles  and  briers,  under  all  of  which 
they  can  build  their  nest  in  peace.  Very  often,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  lake  Annecy,  in  Savoy,  whilst  I  was 
climbing  the  steep,  rocky  ascent  which  leads  to  the 
rourncftcs,  1  frightened  some  couples  of  red-starts,  who 
thought  they  were  quite  hidden  in  safety  in  these  solitary 
pine  forests,  where  no  other  noise  is  to  be  heard  but  the 
foaming  of  mountain  torrents,  and  in  the  fai-  distance,  the 
feeble,  silvery  tinkling  of  the  clairin  or  cow-bells,  which 
iccall  the  herds  of  cattle  scattered  in  the  pasture. 

The  female  red-start  lays  five  or  six  bluish  eggs.  These 
birds  are  naturally  of  a  very  mistrustful  disposition.  It  is 
said  that  they  abandon  tlieir  nest  as  soon  as  they  perceive 
that  they  are  watched  in  the  process  of  nest-building. 
«  If  any  one  touches  one  of  their  eggs,  »  says  the  naturalist 
Albin,  «  the  red-start  leaves  its  brood  ;  if  any  one  touches 
their  young,  it  will  let   them  starve  or  it  will  break  their 


THE    BLLE-BKEAST  125 

neck  ;  this  has  heen  shown  by  experience  more  than 
once.  ))  This  explains  the  care  with  which  the  redstart 
is  always  on  the  look-out  for  crumbling  ruins  and 
deserted  buildings,  for  there,  at  least,  it  hopes  that  no 
intruder  will  come  to  disturb  it. 

If  delicate  people  are  unfortunate,  those  that  take 
umbrage  easily  are  yet  more  to  be  pitied.  The  red-start 
has  nothing  of  the  familiarity  of  the  red-breast  nor  of  the 
joyous  disposition  of  the  warbler.  Its  disposition  is,  in 
the  main,  a  sad  one,  and  something  of  its  melancholy 
mood  has  passed  into  its  song,  which  always  seems  to  be 
impregnated  with  sadness,  even  in  the  season  of  love  and 
pairing.  All  the  time  the  female  is  brooding,  the  male 
red-start  remains  near  the  nest,  perched  on  some  piece 
of  rock  or  some  tottering  stone,  and  there,  from  the 
earliest  hours  in  the  morning,  it  will  sing  in  a  sweet  voice 
with  varied  modulations,  which  have  a  faint  resemblance 
to  the  melody  of  the  nightingale. 

It  feeds  on  flies,  spiders,  chrysalides  and  small  wild 
berries.  Towards  the  month  of  October  it  emigrates, 
flying  across  our  woods;  then  it  is  possible  to  catch  quite 
a  large  number  of  red-starts  in  those  snares  of  the  pro- 
vince of  Lorraine,  of  which  I  have  spoken  in  my  chapter 
on  the  Finch.  It  has  been  vainly  tried  to  tame  them. 
When  n  full-grown  red-start  is  shut  up  in  a  cage,  it  lets 
itself  starve,  or  it  shuts  itself  up  in  obstinate  silence.  It  is 
only  when  red-starts  arc  imprisoned  in  tender  youth  that 


12r,  THE    RED-START 

it  is  possible  to  tamo  ihoni.  'Phis  is  wlial  the  parents 
foresee  witlioiit  (loul)t.  and  in  iIumi-  hatred  of  servitude, 
with  a  eourage  worlliy  of  the  ancient  Romans,  they 
pitilessly  destiov  those  of  their  children  that  a  profane 
liand  has  touchecK  prefering  to  see  them  dead  rather  than 
dishonouied  by  bondage. 

Although  the  propensities  of  the  blue-breast  lean  also 
towards  solitude,  \c\  its  disposition  is  not  quite  so  shy. 
It  has  the  same  habits  and  the  same  instincts  as  its  brolluM- 
the  led-breast.  It  only  differs  from  the  latter  by  the  deli- 
cate blue  lint  which  covei-s  its  throat,  at  the  place  where 
the  former  w^ears  a  breast-plate  of  orange-tinted  red. 
Under  this  blue  neck,  edged  with  black,  fawn-coloured 
plumage  is  seen  on  both  birds  ;  the  ashy  tints  of  the  back, 
the  reddish  shade  of  the  tail-feathers  are  the  same  both 
on  the  red-breast  and  the  blue-breast. 

Their  manner  of  chosing  their  dwelling  alone  dis- 
tinguishes the  habits  of  these  two  warblers.  Whereas  the 
red-breast  dwells  in  the  depths  of  woods,  the  blue-breast 
remains  on  the  outskirts,  preferring  damp  meadows, 
marshy  river  banks,  where  osier  grows  in  great  abundance 
as  well  as  those  decorative  reeds  that  are  called  cat's 
tails.  There,  they  spend  the  fine  season,  living  in  cou])les, 
building  their  nests  in  the  willows  or  between  the  tufts 
of  osier.  They  have  the  same  love  for  wai:er  as  the  rcd- 
br(\ist,  and  thev  bathe  frequently.  You  can  meet  tluMu 
on  slimy  banks,  searching  for  worms  and  insects,  running- 


THK    llED-STAHT 


THE    BLUE-BREAST  129 

about  with    quick    movements,    wide-awake    eyes    and 
turned-up  tail. 

The  female  blue-breast  builds  her  nest  in  summer  and 
constructs  it  of  interwoven  grasses,  generally  kept  to- 
gether by  the  reeds  and  osier,  in  the  midst  of  which  it  is 
built.  At  pairing-time,  the  male  takes  its  flight  upwards, 
fluttering  and  singing  its  strain.  Then  it  descends,  turn- 
ing about  with  the  agility  of  the  warbler,  and  ever  chirping 
and  twittering  it  swings  to  and  fro  on  some  flexible  reed. 
Its  chirp  is  very  sweet  in  pairing-time,  but  it  turns  into 
rather  a  vulgar  cry  as  soon  as  the  season  of  courtship  and 
love  is  over.  The  young  ones  are  of  a  blackish  brown  hue 
in  the  beginning;  the  delicate  blue  shade  of  the  throat 
appears  only  later,  after  the  first  moulting,  and  it  is  even 
said  that  in  grown  birds  this  beautiful  colour  fades  in  a 
state  of  captivity. 

As  the  summer  wears  on,  the  blue-breasts  approach 
gardens  and  orchards  where  they  find  savoury  fruit  in 
abundance.  The  vicinity  of  man  does  not  frighten  them. 
They  become  familiar  enough  to  be  looked  at  and  admired 
at  leisure,  whilst  they  are  picking  the  elder-berries,  of 
which  they  are  extremely  fond.  Their  taste  for  that 
juicy  fruit  becomes  fatal  to  them  and  they  are  frequently 
the  victims  of  their  greediness.  The  ripe  berries  of  the 
elder-tree  serve  as  a  bait  for  bird-catchers  who  use  a 
bird-call  and  who  set  lime-twigs  for  them  on  the  skirts  of 
woods.    In   the  province   of   Alsace   and    in    the   Vosges 


130 


THE    RKD-START 


mountains,  many  untortunate  bluc-l)roasts  aie  caught  in 
this  manner  at  the  time  of  passage.  Biicl-catchers  are 
without  pity  lor  their  prettiness,  without  mercy  for  the 
rare,  delicate  shade  of  their  breast,  and  they  add  this 
meagre  prey  to  the  ohaplet  of  red-breasts,  warblers  and 
green-fmches,  which  are  destined  to  expire  in  the 
frying-pan.  It  is  in  an  iron  pan,  called  (•(x/ui/le,  that  the 
bird-catchers  of  Lorraine  fry  this  delicious  bird  with 
tempting  pieces  of  bacon,  and  compose  a  delicate  roast 
that  all  epicures  delight  in. 


THE    BULLFINCH 


This  is  a  bird  that  uuderstauds 
Full  well  the  art  of  dining; 
Stout  beak  lias  he,  and  knowing  eye, 
So  brown  niul   bright  and  shining. 

When,  dinner  done,  he  cleans  his  beak 
(Stained  by  some  spicy  berry) 
On  bark  of  some  o'ersheltering  tree. 
How  bright  those  eyes  and  merry! 

Plump,  clad  in  black  and  red,  he  has 

An  air  of  cogitation. 
Like  some  fat  prelate  after  lunch 

Absorbed  in  meditation. 

Soft  is  his  song,  as  if  he  were  — 
(Am  I  the  bird  maligning?) 

—  Were  dreaming  ot  his  favourite  art; 
I  mean,  the  art  of  dining. 


THE   BULLFINCH 


\ 


\M: 


tx 


Spending  a  winter  in  the  country,  I  had  a 
bullfinch  to  keep  me  company  in  my  retire- 
ment It  had  been  caught  in  its  nest  towards 
'^r-'^^C^^  the  end  of  the  preceding  spring  and  had 
WS*''""  ^^^  ^'"^^^  enough  to  get  accustomed  to  its 
bondage.  Neither  its  development  nor  its 
good  humour  were  any  the  worse  for  the 
domestic  life  it  was  obliged  to  lead.  It 
was  of  the  size  of  an  ordinary  sparrow .  Its  thick,  hard, 
black  bill  was  slightly  bent,  its  nut-coloured  eyes  had  a 
lovely  expression,  and  the  colours  of  its  plumage  were  as 
bright  as  ever.  The  top  of  its  head,  the  outlines  of  its  bill 
and  the  beginning  of  its  neck  were  of  a  fme  black  lustre, 


134  THE    BULLFINCH 

which  set  off  all  the  more  the  red  tint  of  the  throat,  the 
chest  and  the  top  of  the  stomach ;  the  nape  of  the  neck  and 
the  back  had  ash-coloured  tints,  which  contrasted  beauti- 
fully with  the  light  purple,  red  spotted  wings  and  the 
dark  purple  of  the  large  tail  feathers. 

It  was  of  a  merry  mood  and  had  the  most  remarkable 
musical  aptitude.  Left  in  freedom,  the  bullfinch  is  only 
an  ordinary  singer.  Il  lias  hardly  more  than  three  notes  : 
a  very  pure  whistle,  then  a  rather  hoarse  warble,  dege- 
nerating into  a  falsetto  ;  but  llic  honest  peasant  who  had 
undertaken  the  training  of  my  particular  bird,  had  suc- 
ceeded, hv  (lint  of  patience,  in  teaching  it  softer  and  more 
varied  sounds.  Mv  bullfinch  gave  a  penetrating  accent  to 
its  short  musical  phrases,  a  certain  softened  expression, 
which  charmed  my  solitude  and  made  it  dear  to  me.  The 
winter  was  very  severe.  The  snow  would  diift  against  the 
windows  and  settle  there  in  white  mounds  ;  at  other  times, 
tiie  west  wind  and  rain  storms  would  beat  furiously 
against  the  doors  and  windows  of  my  dwelling.  Neither 
the  bullfinch  nor  I  cared  for  the  inclemency  of  the  season. 
A  blight  fwc  was  ciackling  in  the  fire  jilace  ;  1  had  an 
ample  sup|)lv  of  iii((Mesting  books  ;  mv  friend  had  abun- 
dance of  hcmpsccd,  salad  and  biscuits  ;  we  spent  happy 
days  indeed  in  our  small  study,  with  its  smoky  cross- 
beams and  its  white-washed  walls. 

Excepting  at  bed-time  or  at  night,  my  companion 
never  remained    shut  up    in    its     cage.    The   door   of  its 


THE    BULLFINCH  135 

j)rison  was  ahvays  open,  and  it  took  advantage  of  this  to 
roam  about  the  room,  ever  humming  or  singing.  Some- 
times it  wouhl  perch  on  the  pole  of  my  bed-curtain, 
or  it  woukl  settle  near  the  window,  veiv  inquisitive  as 
to  what  was  going  on  outside.  There,  in  the  muddv, 
snowy  street,  a  peasant  would  pass  bv,  beating  the  pa- 
vement with  his  wooden  shoes,  or  else  a  cart  would 
drive  past  our  house,  splashing  our  window-panes  with 
mud,  and  we  could  distinguish  two  or  three  peasant- 
women  between  the  stave -sides  of  the  cart,  squatting 
under  their  blue  cotton  umbrellas;  or  else,  school-children 
would  rush  out  of  school,  making  a  great  noise  and 
splashing  in  the  muddy  puddles  of  water.  The  bullfinch 
would  considei-  all  this  with  pretty  hitchings  of  its  head, 
and  at  times  it  would  particularly  express  its  interest  by 
some  light  sounds  :  twi  !  twi  !  twi  !  Sometimes  too,  when 
1  was  completely  absorbed  in  my  reading,  it  would  flutter 
about  me  and  finally  alight  on  my  head,  where  it  seemed 
to  take  great  pleasure  in  disarranging  my  haii-. 

In  the  evening  1  went  out  generally  for  my  dinnei'  and 
usually  came  home  rather  late.  As  soon  as  the  bullfinch 
heard  me  open  the  door,  it  would  wake  uj)  and  was  always 
sure  to  welcome  me  by  a  sweet  chirping.  This  seemed 
almost  to  be  a  soit  of  friendly  reproacli  for  having  left 
it  alone  and  ha\  ing  renuiined  out  so  lale.  Tlicii.  having 
I'altled  out  all  its  gi-ief  and  sadness,  it  ^^(^.d(l  put  its  heati 
undei-    its  wing;    I    undressed  and    nvc   i)olli    fell  soundl}' 


136  THE    BULLFINCH 

asleep;  but  early  in  the  morning,  it  was  he  who  awak- 
ened me  by  a  joyous  greeting.  The  bull-finch  seemed  to 
invite  me  to  leave  my  couch,  to  liglit  the  fire  and  to  fill 
ils  mangel'. 

In  this  manner,  we  spent  our  winter  most  pleasantly  ; 
(hen  March  and  its  storms  and  showers  melted  the  snow; 
tlic  first  violets,  daffodils,  and  sweet  scented  wood-ruff 
])eepcd  out  in  the  garden  ;  we  could  now  open  our  win- 
dow and  inhale  with  lapture  the  first  balmy  breezes  of 
spring. 

Spring  is  the  season  when  in  our  mountainous  regions 
wild  bullfinches  begin  to  fly  about  in  couples.  They 
pair  in  April  and  build  their  nests  in  hedges.  These  are 
made  of  moss  on  the  outside,  of  feathers  on  the  inside  ; 
the  female  lays  five  or  six  bluish-white  eggs  spotted  with 
violet  on  this  soft  bed.  When  the  young  ones  are  hatched 
and  sufficiently  feathered,  the  father  and  mother  take 
them  across  the  country,  sometimes  to  blooming  vines, 
sonietinies  to  orchards  filled  with  cherries,  or  else  they 
fly  about  the  skiits  of  a  wood.  The  whole  family  leads 
this  sort  of  vagrant  life  until  the  latter  end  of  autumn, 
picking  at  ears  of  corn,  devouring  the  fruit  of  the  sloe- 
tree,  as  well  as  blackberries  and  dog-wood,  disbudding 
aspen-trees,  alders  and  sorbs  ;  whistling,  calling  and 
answering  each  other,  intoxicating  themselves  with  air 
and  sunshine. 

I  do  not  know  whether  my  bullfinch  (a  male)   had   a 


THE    BULLFINCH 


THl-     BULT.FTXCH  139 

vague  sort  of  inner  presentiment  of  ;ill  these  things,  l)ut 
as  April  w  as  making  Nature  green  and  tlie  air  was  getting 
warmer,  it  became  more  restless  and  more  turbulent.  It 
would  leave  its  cage  more  willingly,  fluttering  impatiently 
about  the  room,  hanging  on  the  window-sill  or  beating 
lightly  against  the  panes  with  its  bill. 

Surely  some  mysterious  instinct  had  been  telling  mv 
companion  about  the  budding  hedges  and  the  free  bull- 
finches who  were  making  love  to  each  other  in  the  pleasant 
sunlight.  It  cared  no  longer  for  its  food,  although  it  was 
generally  very  much  of  an  epicure;  it  disdained  its  hemj)- 
seed  and  biscuit;  it  had  only  one  object  in  view  :  the 
window  ;  it  would  spend  hours  there  as  if  in  a  dieam, 
looking  at  the  trees,  whose  new  leaves  the  wind  was 
shaking,  and  which  appeared  just  above  the  opposite  wall 
beyond.  Then  another  fit  of  frenzy  would  seize  it;  it 
would  pick  again  at  the  window-panes,  repeatediv  utter- 
ing a  low  cry  which  seemed  to  say  :  \Miy  do  you  not  let 
me  out  ?  NMiy  do  you  not  let  me  out  ? 

One  fine  morning,  finding  the  window  ajar,  it  flew 
away  while  my  back  Avas  turned. 

Dazzled  at  first  by  the  sunlight  and  not  accustomed  to 
the  open  air,  it  did  not  fly  far.  At  a  distance  of  a  few 
yards  from  the  house,  there  was  a  heap  of  manure  in 
which  about  a  dozen  hens  were  scratching.  There  the  bull- 
finch halted  to  make  use  of  its  libertv  bv  huntingfor  worms 
in  this  fruitful  ground.    But  it  had  not  counted  on  the  in- 


140 


THE    BULLFINCH 


tolerant,  quarrelsome  disposition  of  these  shrews.  At  the 
sight  of  the  intruder  that  came  to  pilfer  on  their  estates, 
the  hens  flew  into  a  great  rage.  In  a  second  my  poor 
bullfinch  was  surrounded,  worried,  picked  at  and  plucked 
by  their  sharp  bills. 

Leaning  out  of  my  window,  1  had  followed  my  fugitive 
with  my  eyes,  and  I  understood  the  danger  it  was  in.  1 
jumped  out  of  the  window,  ran  to  the  spot,  but  il  was  too 
late.  —  Bruised,  plucked  and  bleeding,  my  poor  little 
companion  lay  motionless  on  the  dung  heap,  whilst  those 
harpies  were  yet  worrying  it  with  their  bills; — when  1 
succeeded  at  last  in  pulling  it  out  of  their  clutches,  my 
poor  bullfinch  was  dead. 


THE   Til  RUSH 

Now  is  the  tale  of  August's  wealth 

In  golden  glories  told, 
And  all  the  laden  vimyard  glows 

With  purple  grapes  and  gold. 

From  vat  or  winepr.ss  duly  filled 

With  juices  of  the  vine 
There  comes  on  every  breeze  that  blows 

The  drowsy  scent  of  wine. 

With  laughter  lond   and  kisses  long 

Through  all  the  leafy  way. 
In  alleys  ol  the  clustering  vine 

Do  men  and  maidens  stay. 

Illended  with  voices  of  the  birds 
Who  steal  the  grapes  and  sing 

Their  lond  and  joyous  merriment 
Makes  all  the  vineyard  ring. 

And  lo  !  the  thrush  who  loudly  sings 

On  topmost  wreath  of  vine 
With  juice  of  grape  and  joy  of  heart 


Five  years  ago,  on  a  beautiful  day  in 
September,  I  was  descending  a  bollow 
road  in  Brittany,  going  from  the  village 
of  Briantais  to  that  of  Saint-Jouan,  one 
of  those  broad,  grass-grown  foot-paths 
which  are  so  frequently  found  in  that 
province.  On  both  sides  of  the  road  the 
slopes  rose  like  two  green  walls,  planted 
.".  with  chesnut-trees  and  pollards.  The  wheels 
of  the  carts  that  had  passed  on  this  road  had  left  deep 
ruts  where  the  rain  had  settled  in  pools,  and  in  that 
damp,  moist  soil,  the  pink  flowers  of  the  lesser  centaury 
appear  in  full  bloom. 


I4i  THE    THRUSH 

It  was  perhaps  eight  oclock  in  the  morning  ;  I  was 
hstening  in  the  balmy  freshness  of  early  autumn  to  the 
parish  bells  ringing  for  mass,  whilst  thrushes  were  singing 
in  the  juniper  trees  of  the  moor.  At  the  same  time  the 
salt  breezes  tliat  ])lcw  from  beyond  the  sloping  declivity 
told  me  the  sea  was  near. 

I  was  just  about  climbing  over  a  fence  made  of  boughs 
when  I  heard  some  steps  behind  me,  and  turning  round, 
I  perceived  an  early  riser  who  was  fond  of  walking, 
coming  in  my  direction.  He  appealed  to  bo  al)out  thirty ; 
he  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  dark  blue  cloth,  woie  a  round 
felt  hat  and  looked  like  a  well-to-do  country  gentleman; 
his  dress  was  even  too  elaborate  for  that  early  morning- 
hour,  antl  his  <ha\vn  features,  his  eyes  circled  with  black, 
his  hooked  nose  pinched  at  its  extremity,  his  leady  com- 
plexion, all  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  passed  a 
sleepless  night.  Not  being  very  well  acquainted  with 
the  topogaphy  of  the  locality,  1  took  advantage  of  this 
unexpected  meeting  to  ask  him  whether  1  was  on  the 
right  road  to  Saint-Jouan. 

He  answered  in  the  affirmative  and  told  me  he  was 
going  the  same  way  himself,  adding:  «  1  shall  be  happy 
to  show  you  the  shortest  way,  as  I  am  going  home  and 
anxious  to  get  to  bed  ». 

He  noticed  doubtlessly  an  expression  ol  surprise  in 
my  face,  for  he  added  smilingly  :  «  You  are  astonished 
that   I  should   go   to   bed    when   others   rise  ?  It  is  quite 


THE    Til  HUSH  1^5 

natiunl ;  I  spent  the  niglit  al  the  Casino  of  Sainl-!\hilo  ; 
tlie  game  of  baccarat  was  very  animated,  and  we  only  left 
the  gaming  table  at  early  dawn  ». 

I  considered  him  more  attentively  :  he  had  indeed  the 
countenance  of  a  gambler.  His  giey  eyes  were  glistening 
feverishly  and  contrasted  with  the  impassibility  of  the 
rest  of  his  features.  As  we  were  walking  along,  a  thrush 
began  to  sing.  The  grave  notes  of  its  song  alternated 
with  low,  chirping,  shrill  flourishes ;  my  companion  lifted 
his  head  suddenly  and  listened  to  the  familiar  strain. 

«  That's  a  young  thrush  »,  nmttered  he,  «  a  pretty  bird, 
my  good  sir!  it  is  clearing  its  throat  with  the  fruit  of  the 
juniper-tree    and    that    softens    its    voice.    I    am   fond    of 

hearing  that  song  on  the  moor It  is  a   fetich  and  it 

brings  me  good  luck If  1  had  heard  it  yesterday 

when  1  was  going  to  the  Casino,  1  should  perha])S  have 
had  better  luck  !  But  instead  of  that  I  am  going  home 
completely  plucked.  —  Fortunately  I  am  not  easily  dis- 
couraged and  shall  make  up  to-morrow  for  to-day's  ill 
luck  !  » 

The  thrush  continued  throwing  its  trills  into  the  air, 
and  the  gamester,  standing  on  the  grassy  declivity, 
stopped  again  to    listen. 

«  I  know  that  particular  bird,  said  he;  it  has  built  its 
nest  on  the  lower  branches  of  an  oak-tree  ;  1  caiighl  it  the 
other  dav  brooding,  for  with  these  birds,  it  is  the  male 
who  broods,   so   as  to  let  the  female  rest  !    It  is  a   most 


146  THE    THRUSH 

excellent  father  and  husband  !  »  My  companion  sighed 
again  .  «  I  noticed  this  thrush  »,  he  continued,  «  on  ac- 
count of  its  black  eyes  and  the  orange  coloured  tint  of  its 
wings;  these  two  traits  distinguish  it  from  the  red-wing 
or  wind-thrush.  Just  as  I  was  bending  over  the  nest,  the 
bird  Hew  away;  —  I  ought  not  to  have  startled  it,  it  has 
brought  me  ill-luck  !  » 

We  had  now  reached  the  entrance  to  a  long  avenue  ot 
beech-trees  ;  at  the  other  extremity  of  which  we  could 
perceive  the  gate  of  a  manor-house  built  in  the  architec- 
tural style  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII. 

«  This  is  the  road  that  leads  to  Saiiil-Jouan  »,  said 
my  companion,  «  and  I  am  now  at  home.  Good  morning 
to  you.  my  dear  sir  !  » 

We  separated,  and  I  saw  liiin  disappear  slowly  under 
the  shady  arch  of  the  beeches.  —  At  Saint-Jouan  I  ques- 
tioned the  inn-keeper  about  him  and  I  licaid  lliat  the 
avenue  of  Ix'cclies  IcmI  to  the  manor  of  «  La  Crochais  «, 
belonging  to  a  certain  M.  de  'frelivan. 

The  following  week  at  the  Casino  I  again  met  the 
owner  of  <i  La  Crochais  ».  He  was  silting  at  a  hdccdraf 
(al)le  and  iiohling  the  hank.  While  dealing  he  was  biting 
his  lij)s  and  (hops  of  |;('is])ii;ition  were  standing  on  his 
brow.  A  (piaitei-  of  an  hour  latei'.  he  galhered  n|)  what  he 
had  won,  picked  uj)  a  pile  of  gold  and  rose  from  his  seat. 
He  recognized  me  immediately  and  came  up  tome,  saying: 

tt  It's  all  right,  1   am  making  up  for  my  losses  of  the 


Til  K  Tu  ui;sii 


THE    THRUSH  149 

Other  day.  .  .  .  You  see,  it  is  necessary  not  to  give  in.  .  .  . 
and  besides,  added  he  in  a  low  voice,  I  heard  the  thrush 
singing-  on  the  moor  this  evening,  its  song  was  never  mer- 
ri(M-.  It  s  a  prettv  bird,  sir!  While  I  was  listening  to  its 
song,  1  was  saying  to  myself:  «  I  shall  have  luck  to-night !  » 
and  so  far  reallv,  I  have  no  reason  to  he  dissatisfied  !  » 

I  left  Saint-Malo  on  the  following  day.  I  came  back 
this  year,  and  the  other  chiy  took  a  drive  to  Dinan,  fol- 
lowing the  left  bank  of  the  Hance.  On  the  load,  one  of 
the  bolts  of  the  pole  of  my  carriage  having  diopped,  we 
were  obliged  to  halt  going  down  hill.  «  Fortunately  there 
is  a  farrier  at  Saint-Jouan  »,  said  the  driver  :  «  if  you  would 
be  kind  enough  sir,  to  walk  as  far  as  that,  it  will  take  only 
five  minutes  to  have  the  pole  repaired  ». 

The  name  of  Saint-Jouan  awoke  a  slumbering  recol- 
lection in  my  mind.  I  recognized  the  landscape  that  I  had 
perceived  years  ago  :  the  avenue  of  beeches,  the  slate- 
covered  roof  of  the  manor,  buried  in  the  shining  verdure 
of  thechesnut  trees,  and  the  moor  where  the  thrushes  were 
singing  as  formerly.  To  the  left  of  the  road,  at  a  turning, 
I  noticed  a  grey  granite  cross  erected  on  a  low  hill;  above 
this  cross  maple  trees  were  shaking  their  silvery  leaves. 
«  Is  there  any  one  buried  here?  )i  I  asked  of  the  driver. 

«  Yes  sir,  the  owner  of  «  La  Crochais  «,  that  manor  on 
your  right,  a  certain  M.  de  Trehvau  )>.  Trelivan  !  the  name 
was  sufficient  to  bring  the  |)ast  back  to  my  mind.  I  saw 
again    before  me  my  companion  of  yore  with  his   I'obust 


150 


THE    THRUSH 


frame,  his  erect  carriage,  his  feverish  eye,  stopping  on  the 
moor  to  h'sten  to  the  song  of  the  thrush. 

((  He  blew  out  his  brains  on  this  very  spot,  sir,  conti- 
nued the  driver,  you  see  he  was  a  gambler  ;  he  had  just 
lost  some  enormous  sums  at  the  Casino,  and  had  a  wife 
and  children.  One  morning,  as  he  was  coming  home, 
he  sat  down  yonder,  facing  his  avenue,  and  blew  out  his 
brains  !  A  great  pity,  to  be  sure  !  a  magnificent  looking 
man,  and  so  merry  when  he  had  good  luck  !  Sometimes, 
when  I  (h'ove  him  to  Saint-Malo,  he  made  me  stop  on  the 
road  to  listen  to  the  thrush.  He  used  to  say  that  it  brought 
him  luck  !  It  inust  surely  be,  that  the  thrush  had'nt  sung 
that  morning!  » 


THE    SWALLUW 

Wlieii  the  winter  days  are  ended. 
And  the  trees  put  on  their  leaves, 
As  her  wont  is,  comes  the  swallow. 
Twittering  gaily  iu  the  eaves. 

And  when  summer  days  are  gone. 
With  tireless  wing   and  dauntless  heart 
As  their  wont  is,  to  the  southward, 
Do  the  swallow  kind  depart. 

As  I  watch  the  parting  swallow, 
On  her  way  to  distant  lands 
I  would  fain  that  I  might  follow. 
To  the  desert  and  its  sands. 

Ah  to  break  the  bound  that  holds  me  ! 
Ah  !  to  set  my  spirit  free  ! 
Free  to  wander  like  the  swallow, 
Over  continent  and  sea  ! 


___J 


THE    SWALLOW 


I    remember    one   evening  having 
witnessed  the  departure  of  swallows 
from    a     corner     window,     looking 
out  on  the  solitary  small  square  of  a 
country  town.  One  of  the  sides  of  the 
square  was  entirely  occupied  by  an 
old  mansion ;  its  balconies,  cornices 
and  friezes  offering  numberless  rest- 
ing places  to  the  future  travellers. 
During   the   last  few  days   I    had   noticed  an  unusual 
coming  and  going  among  the  swallows.  They  were  flying 
about  restlessly,  with  a  very  busy  look.  Some  would  dart 
down  the  whole  length  of  the  street,  describing  long  cir- 


154  THE    SWALLOW 

ciiits,  lliiowing-  out  cries  of  appeal,  then  reapj)earing  at 
the  other  eiul  of  the  street,  bringing  up  many  new-comers, 
wliicli  h'kc  quarter-masters,  woukl  inspect  every  corner 
and  then  disappear  Hkewise.  Every  morning  the  band  in- 
cieased  considerably.  You  would  have  thought  they 
were  experimenting  on  the  preliminaries  of  departure, 
and  that  the  messengers  had  been  ordered  to  indicate 
to  all  the  place  of  final   congregation. 

Evidently  the  collective  departure  of  these  birds  ne- 
cessitates a  number  of  private  meetings  and  an  agreement 
prepared  long  beforehand.  Even  if  we  admit  certain 
mysterious  presentiments,  it  would  be  absurd  to  believe 
that  instinct  alone,  so  to  say  mechanical,  could  make  all 
the  swallows  of  one  region  congregate  together  at  the 
same  time  and  the  same  place.  This  displacement  of  a 
whole  population  of  birds  can  only  be  explained  by  a 
series  of  rather  complex  reasoning  and  by  a  special  sort 
of  language,  establishing  prompt  communication  between 
individuals  of  the  same  species.  Who  assumes  the 
responsibility  of  the  meeting?  who  chooses  the  hour  of 
departure  and  the  j)lace  of  congregating?  Probably  the 
elders  of  the  tribe,  those  who  have  had  most  experience. 

It  is  well  known  that  swallows  come  back  faith- 
fully every  year  to  the  same  quarters  and  the  same  nest. 
Therefore,  there  must  exist  in  everv  borough,  in  every 
town,  some  old  patriarchs  well  ac([uainted  with  ail 
variations  of  climate,  with   all   local   resources,    with   the 


THE    SWALLOW  155 

roads  to  be  taken,  and  who,  having  the  presentiment 
of  the  coming  hour  of  migration,  will  agree  about  the 
place  of  meeting ;  then,  they  will  disperse  in  the  coun 
try  all  around,  to  inform  the  whole  clan.  Many  natu- 
ralists noticed  long  ago  that  swallows  have  a  peculiar 
cry  for  the  circumstance,  which  they  call  <(  the  cry  of 
assembly  ». 

These  preparations  interested  me  exceedingly.  I 
could  watch  them  from  our  garret  window,  where  pre- 
cisely two  swallows  had  built  their  hemispheric  nest  of 
straw  and  gravel,  which  they  regularly  occupied  every 
year.  I  had  witnessed  the  return  of  our  guests  for  the 
last  three  years,  having  watched  intently  the  process  of 
brooding  and  the  training  of  the  young  ones.  Once  even, 
after  having  read  a  book  on  swallows,  I  had  caught  one 
of  the  parents  by  means  of  a  net  spread  over  the  orifice 
of  the  nest  and  I  had  tied  a  green  silk  string  to  its  foot. 
IIow  happy  I  was  the  Following  spring,  to  see  in  the  nest 
the  same  swallow  having  yet  a  bit  of  the  green  thread 
tied  to  its  foot !  This  circumstance  redoubled  my  inte- 
rest in  these  birds  which  had  come  back  from  afar  to 
a  dormer   window  in   our  humble  dwelling  ! 

Swallows  had  for  mc  that  marvelous  attraction  that 
draws  us  towards  people  who  have  travelled  in  foreign 
countries.  Their  return  was  a  sign  of  coming  spring; 
their  departure  always  left  me  with  an  aching  heart ;  it 
told  me  that  the  end  of  my  holidays  was  drawing  near 


156  THE    SWALLOW 

Emotion  mingled  with  regret,  as  if  I  were  witnessing 
the  last  act  of  some  pathetic  tragedy,  while  I  was  watch- 
ing their  last  gatherings. 

Daring  these  preparatory  evolutions  the  power,  the 
strength  and  the  elasticity  of  their  wings  seemed  to 
have  increased.  It  was  a  delight  to  see  their  fluttering 
in  the  open  air.  There  they  displayed  all  the  resources 
of  their  art  of  flying:  turning  and  turning  about  again 
and  again,  changing  their  direction  at  evei-y  minute 
and  exercising  themselves  to  soar  high  in  the  air.  You 
could  see  that  having  to  accomplish  a  long  sea- voyage, 
they  encouraged  each  other  and  tried  the  strength  of  their 
wings,  so  as  not  to  carry  any  stragglers  with  them.  It  is 
even  probable,  that,  if  during  these  preparatory  exercises 
any  swallow  had  revealed  some  weakness  of  constitution, 
it  would  have  been  pitilessly  left  behind.  Besides,  this 
is  the  manner  of  proceeding  of  all  migratory  birds  that 
travel  in  flocks. — An  Austrian  officer  told  me  that  he 
had  seen  storks  congregate  together  on  the  wide  plains 
of  Hungary  at  the  minute  of  starting.  For  hours  the}^ 
would  describe  long  circles  so  as  to  put  their  strength  to 
a  trial.  If  one  of  the  storks,  too  old  or  too  ill,  lost  its 
strength  and  dropped  down,  immediately  the  whole  flock 
darted  on  the  poor  creature  and  killed  it  [)itilessly. 

No  such  tragic  event  accompanied  the  departure  of 
my  swallows,  and  I  had  no  such  execution  to  witness. 

One  September  afternoon,  I  saw  them  arrive  in  great 


TH  K    SWA  I,F>OW 


THE    SWALLOW  159 

flocks  in   the   square.   Tlie  \veather   was   fine   and    grape 
gathering  and  vintage   had  begun.   Merry   sunshine  was 
bathing  the  dew-covered  roofs  and  at  both  extremities  of 
the  street   I   could   perceive  the  vine-covered   slopes    ol 
our  hills.   From    all   the  streets  near  by  swallows  were 
issuing.  They  would  turn  a  minute  in  the  sky," then  they 
would    perch  on   the  window-sills   and    cornices    of   the 
houses.   The   supports    of  the  balconies  and   the   friezes 
were  soon  covered  by  a  long  line  of  small  black  heads, 
nodding  softly   with   low  melodious  chirping.    Now  and 
then,  one  swallow  would  leave  the  line  and  at   a  single 
flight  would  survey  the  front  of  the  ranks,  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  every  thing  was   in  order  and  the  troup   com- 
plete.   No,    not  yet.     At  every    instant    straoglers   were 
coming    up   hastily;  they  were  received  with   impatient 
cries  from  the  birds  of  the   flock;  then,    with  yet  more 
noise  and  tumult,   they  would   draw  up  closer  so  as  to 
make  room  for  the  new-comers. 

After  a  little  while  a  profound  silence  began  to  reign 
among  the  flock  —  an  almost  solemn  silence.  The  sun 
was  already  lower  down  and  sending  oblique  rays  into 
the  street ;  the  shadow  of  the  hills  was  lengthening  on 
the  town.  Suddenly,  at  a  single  flight,  the  troup  of 
swallows  took  wing  and  ascended,  their  wings  fluttering 
and  quivering  with  confusion  and  agitation.  For  one 
second  the  sky  was  darkciuMJ  by  this  black  battalion 
hovering  above  the  square;    then  the  swallows,    forming 


UiO 


THE    SWALLOW 


a  long  winding  line,  took  their  iliglit  towards  the  soutli 
and  disa|)j)eared  in  llie  mists  which  overcast  the  horizon. 
\Mien  I  turned  my  eyes  again  to  the  ground,  the 
whole  town  appeared  to  me  sad  and  lonely.  I  remained 
a  long  while  standing  at  my  window,  thrilled  with  that 
sensation  oF  sadness  and  solitude  which  follows  the 
departure  of  those  whom  we  love 


1  wit '  1  weel '  Tweet !  Tweet !  Daybreaks. 
Aud  Kobiii  Redbreast  wakes. 
Still  sleep  the  quails  iu  the  corn 
liut  lo\c  within  thy  nest 
Wakts  uj)  betimes.  Redbreast, 
Ureeting  the  morn. 

Right  eaily,  too,  in  spring 
1  h>  love  wakes  up  to  sing. 
1  h\  nest  bi  ives  April  showers, 
Duilt  will  11  tlie  March  winds  blow, 
And  w  hen  the  spring  days  show 
Their  earliest  flowers, 


THE   RED-BREAST 


Thomas  Carlyle  used  to  be  fond  of  rclatino- 
that  in  the  beginning  of  his  career  he  had 
been  obUged  to  hve  a  long  time  in  the  tur- 
moil of  a  big  city,  where  he  had  met  with 
nothing  but  annoyance.  One  day,  as  he  Avas 
coming  home,  morally  worn  out  and  discour- 
--         ;r  aged,  he  suddenly  heard  a  band  of  larks  send- 

ing up  their  joyous  strain  from  the  corn-fields,  just  as 
he  had  formerly  heard  them  chirp  in  his  father's  farms: 
this  unexpected  music  then  cheered  him  greatly  and  gave 
him  new  courage  to  figlit  th(^  battle  of  life. 

This  evening,  I  have  had  a  similar  emotion,  sweet  and 
yet  melancholy,  while  1  was  listening  to  the  song  of  the 


164  THE     RED-BREAST 

red-breasts  in  the  beeches  of  a  neighbouring  park.  Birds 
have  that  pecuHarity  of  always  appearing  to  be  the  same 
that  we  have  heard  before.  Years  pass  away,  we  grow  old, 
we  see  our  friends  die  or  disappear,  we  see  revolutions 
change  the  face  of  things  in  the  world,  our  illusions  van- 
ish one  by  one,  and  yet,  in  the  trees  of  the  orchards  or 
the  beeches  in  the  woods,  the  birds  that  we  have  known 
ill  cliildhood  rc])eat  the  same  melodious  call,  modulate 
the  same  musical  phrases  with  the  same  voice,  apparently 
as  young  as  ever.  Time  never  seems  to  touch  them,  and 
as  ihcv  lu'dc  out  of  sight  wlien  they  die,  as  we  never 
witness  their  agony,  we  can  easily  imagine  that  we  are 
yet  in  \\\v  j^esence  of  the  same  songsters  that  charmed  us 
in  early  youth. 

Be  that  as  it  will,  the  red-breasts  to  which  I  have  been 
listening  to-night  were  warbling  their  song  with  the  same 
tender  and  caressing  expression  as  when  1  was  young. 
They  were  skipping  about  merrily  and  familiarly  quite 
near  me  in  the  reddening  branches,  and  I  could  dis- 
tinctly perceive  their  bright  black  eyes,  their  brown 
heads  and  their  breast  with  its  beautiful  leddish  orange 
tint.  The  aspect  of  the  bushes,  covered  with  blackber- 
ries, the  particular  scent  of  the  woods  at  the  latter  end 
of  autumn,  the  charm  of  the  beautiful  red  tints  of  that 
season  of  the  year,  added  to  the  hallucination.  I  thought 
that  the  golden  days  of  yore  had  come  back,  when, 
chiring   the   summer   holidays.  1  would  lie  on  my   back, 


THE     RED-BREAST  165 

Stretched  on  the  grass  on  the  outskirts  of  a  wood,  build- 
ing magnificent  castles  in  the  air,  whilst  listening  to  the 
appealing  cry  of  the  birds  of  passage.  In  those  days,  1 
would  dream  —  my  heart  beating  joyously  all  the  while  — 
of  my  coming  youth,  of  the  smiling  perspectives  of  the 
future,  whilst  the  red  -  breasts,  with  their  song,  were 
warbling  an  approving  accompaniment  to  my  reveries. 

To-night,  I  hear  them  again.  The  setting  sun  is  just 
as  magnificent  —  and  yet  its  splendour  is  not  quite  the 
same  as  of  yore.  The  tints  and  outlines  of  the  landscape 
seem  to  be  veiled  with  some  melancholy  mist.  The  time 
of  maturity  has  come  with  disillusion,  bitter  experience, 
thwarted  hopes.  At  half  a  yard's  distance,  there  where  the 
water  is  greenish  in  the  cisterns,  a  red-breast  was  sing- 
ing, perched  on  a  wild  rose  bush  above  m}'  head.  The 
bird  was  looking  at  me  familiarly  with  its  arch  black 
eye,  seeming  to  say  to  me: 

«  WeW !  old  comrade,  you  have  indeed  grown  old  !  » 
You,  you  are  ever  the  same,  oh  friendly  red-breast  ! 
Your  breast  has  yet  that  fine  colour  of  ripe  sorb  to  which 
you  owe  your  name!  At  early  dawn,  you  awake,  you,  the 
earliest  riser  among  birds,  and  sing  your  melodious 
tireli.  All  day  long,  in  the  depths  of  damp  woods,  you 
are  searching  for  food  under  the  dead  leaves.  On  Saint- 
Albin's  day,  when  the  meadows  arc  yet  covered  with 
hoar-frost,  you  bravely  select  the  place  of  your  future 
nest  ;  you  begin  to  warble,  in  order  to  charm  your  mate, 


166  THE    RED-BREAST 

and  as  your  heart  is  as  true  and  as  faithful  as  it  is 
warm  and  passionate,  you  have  not  many  deceptions  in 
love.  In  the  warm  nest  you  have  woven  of  moss  and  grass, 
your  large  family  is  slumbering  peacefully  ;  when  you 
leave  your  dwelling  to  search  for  food,  you  cover  the  en- 
trance of  the  nest  with  a  dry  leaf,  like  a  prudent  landlord 
who  closes  the  latch  of  his  door  before  going  out,  and  you 
take  wing  w^ith  a  quiet  mind,  having  no  care  and  no 
uneasiness. 

^^'hen  autumn  comes,  and  haw,  sorbs  and  dog-w^ood 
redden  the  hedges,  you  change  your  bill  of  fare,  and  you 
begin  to  live  on  juicy,  perfumed  fruit.  Your  throat  then 
acquires  a  fresh  sujipleness,  and  your  song  new  beauty 
and  power.  Leaves  fall  from  the  trees,  but  the  first  colds 
of  winter  w^ill  not  frighten  you  ;  you  w  ill  only  fly  nearer 
to  human  dwellings.  It  seems  that  you  regret  to  leave  us, 
and  often,  in  the  month  of  November,  the  first  soft  snow^ 
will  take  you  by  surprise,  and  you  will  hammer  with  your 
bill  against  some  bright  window,  asking  unceremoniously 
for  shelter  and  food. 

To  be  sure,  you  do  not  escape  the  common  lo.t,  and 
you  will  grow  old  just  as  we  all  do;  only  to  us  it  does  not 
seem  so,  and  we  do  not  perceive  that  you  are  changing. 
We  see  red-breasts  hopping  and  skipping  about  at  the  same 
places  as  formerly  ;  we  hear  your  autumnal  song,  and  it 
seems  to  us  that  we  are  yet  hearing  the  same  bird.  They 
say  that  you  are  spared  the  decrepitude  of  old  age,  and 


THE    RED    15KEA8T 


THE     RED-BREAST  169 

that  generally  you  die  sutklenly,  struck  by  a  fit  of  apo- 
plexy. That  is  another  of  the  privileges  of  your  destiny. 
As  Montaigne  says  :  «  The  deadest  deaths  are  the  best.  » 
On  some  evening  in  spring  or  summer,  after  too  substan- 
tial a  meal,  or  too  long  a  feast  of  love,  you  will  receive 
your  death-blow.  Dead  leaves  will  cover  your  small  body, 
just  as  they  formerly  covered  your  nest,  and  dying,  you 
can  still  imagine  that  you  are  lying  in  your  cradle. 

Our  lot  is  not  so  happy  as  yours,  oh  robin  red-breast ! 
Our  life,  less  uniform  than  yours,  is  hdler  of  deceiving 
complications. 

A  changeful  infinite 

It  spreads  before  our  eyes  like  some  vast  plain 
Where  fairy  magic  spreads  for  our  delight 
The  varying  witchery  of  its  mystic  train. 

There  may  we  roam,    too,  lost   in  wonderment, 
To  choose  among  the  myriad  opening  flovers; 
Amazed  with  beauty,  afar,  we  miss  the  scent 
Of  buds  already  grasped  by  hands  of  ours. 

But  although  our  life  be  interwoven  with  honeysuckles 
or  briers,  although  it  be  entangled  with  numberless  black 
threads,  amongst  which  glisten  just  a  few  golden  ones, 
it  must  yet  finish  like  thine,  oh  robin  red  breast !  not  quite 
so  suddenly  ])erchance,  with  more  ups  and  downs,  with  a 
more  lingering  old  age....  nevertheless,  it  must  come*  lo 
an  end.  Like  thee,  we  must  sleej:)  in  the  dark  earth,  and 
nothing  will   remain   of  our    indivichiality,  of  wliich   we 


170 


THE    RED-BREAST 


were  so  proud,  but  a  remembrance,  wliicli  lasts  more  or 
less  and  disappears  entirely  as  years  roll  on.  For  a  short 
while  our  friends  will  speak  of  us  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh  ; 
then  all  regrets  will  vanish.  Those  who  have  wept  on  our 
grave  will  be  consoled,  and  then  disappear  likewise,  and 
insensibly  and  silently  forgetfulness  will  heap  dry  leaves 
over  our  individuality  as  over  thine  !  All  will  have  for- 
gotten the  way  to  our  grave,  but  butterflies  and  the  birds 
of  the  skies.  It  will  be  a  lucky  chance  indeed,  oh  robin 
red-breast,  if  one  of  thy  brethren  wmII  come  to  warble 
there  his  friendly  strain,  the  self  same  song,  ever  young 
and  ever  beautiful! 


'f,i<l"'  :^'  '.'*' 


THE    TITMOUSE 

Dearest,  since  budding  April  liaiigs  with  green 
The  boughs  of  all  the  neighbouring  bushes,  see 
Here  let  us  build  our  mossy  nest,  between 
I  lie  budding  branches  of  this  willow  tree. 

\lnst  needs  a  cradle  softly  lined  and  warm 
1  '■'■  woven  of  straws,  and  moss,  and  down,mv  sweet 
l<.  screen  thy  precious  eggs  from  cold  or  harm; 
!l.rp  will  I    bring  thee  dainty  food  to  eat, 

\\  hile  thou  dost  brood,  until,  e'er  end  of  sprint;, 
I  by  warmth  of  heart  will  at  the  last  compel 
iiir  younglings,   h.lpk-ss  things  and  Iwitt.-riiiL- 

1  )  bie  ik  their  w  n   tiom  piotei  ting  sin  II 
We    irt  but  two  to  sing  the    pi  usi   of  Spring 
Vutuinn  v  el 


THE  TITMOUSE  FAMILY 


V 


^:-^m^  Diirlno-  tlic  first  rainy   days  of  October, 

tLi^^s^/^  when  windows  however  yet  remain  open,  I 

^  could  hear  the  low  warbling-  of  the  titmice  in 
the  pines  and  firs  of  the  garden.  They  had 
come  there  in  troops  ever  since  Michaelmas, 
and  they  were  actively  engaged  in  picking 
spindle-trees,  yews  and  larches.  Ever  alert, 
they  flutter  about  from  one  group  of  trees  to  anothci-, 
skipping  on  the  branches,  turning  the  leaves,  climbing 
along  the  bark,  suspending  themselves  with  their  back 
downwards,  so  as  to  be  able  to  pick  more  easily  the  cre- 
vices in  the  bark,  whcic  they  know  that  worms  and  in- 
sects hide  their  chrysalis. 

All   these   titmice    differ  in  colour,  size  and   general 


174  THE    TITMOUSE    FAMILY 

nppearance  ;  still  llicy  offer  certain  general  characteristics 
which  do  not  allow  us  to  have  the  slightest  doubt  about 
their  common  parentage.  They  all  have  a  short,  cone- 
shaped  bill  which  is  slightly  flattened  on  the  sides  and 
covered  up  to  the  nostrils  with  small  feathei's  which  bristle 
easily  and  give  an  impertinent  expression  to  their  physiog- 
nomy. All  titmice  too  have  very  robust  muscles  in  the  neck; 
their  skull  is  very  thick;  they  also  have  much  strength  in 
the  muscles  of  their  feel  and  toes ;  this  explains  the  supple- 
ness and  agility  of  their  wonderful  gymnastic  feats,  when 
they  destroy  caterpillars  on  the  branches,  pick  hard  seeds 
and  pierce  the  shell  of  hazelnuts.  It  has  even  been  said 
that  they  lake  atlvanlage  of  the  sharpness  of  their  bill, 
which  can  be  compared  to  a  blade  of  steel,  in  order  to 
pierce  the  skulls  of  small  birds  when  they  find  them  either 
dead  or  weakened  by  illness,  so  as  to  feast  on  their  brains. 
Ordinarily  however,  titmice  are  satisfied  w^ith  more  inno- 
cent food  ;  lliey  live  chiefly  on  cater])illars,  eggs  of  butter- 
flies, but  also  on  hazelnuts,  beech-nuts,  walnuts,  and  in 
general  on  all  kinds  of  oil-seed. 

Diirini^-  the  fine  season  they  live  in  the  depths  of 
hillv  woods,  but  as  soon  as  the  first  cold  sets  in  and 
I  he  first  snow  falls  on  the  mountains,  they  emigrate  to- 
wards cultivated  plains  and  draw  nearer  to  inhabited  re- 
gions. Nearly  all  titmice  are  remarkable  for  their  talent 
in  nest-building,  which  is  truly  extraordinary  in  such 
small  birds.    They  employ   in    the  construction   of  their 


THE    TITMOUSE    FAMILY  175 

nest  choice  material,  such  as  small  blades  of  grass,  flexible 
roots,  soft  silky  moss,  bits  of  wool,  feathers  and  vege- 
table down,  and  they  use  their  bill  in  a  most  skilful  man- 
ner for  interweaving,  rounding  off,  smoothing  and  shaping 
these  materials  so  various  in  texture  and  in  form. 

Titmice  are  all  very  prolific.  Most  of  the  females  lay 
as  many  as  fifteen  or  even  eighteen  eggs.  Their  family 
instinct  is  also  very  much  developed.  Both  males  and  fe- 
males display  untiring  zeal  in  feeding  their  large  progeniture 
and  unequalled  energy  in  defending  it  against  the  attacks 
of  owls  and  other  rapacious  birds.  In  the  main,  the  dispo- 
sition of  titmice  is  naturally  violent,  daring  and  warlike. 

It  is  doubtless  due  to  their  intrepidity  and  quarrel- 
some temper  developed  by  the  obligation  of  being  ever  on 
the  defensive,  that  titmice  have  sometimes  been  accused 
of  slyness,  cunning  and  ferocity.  But  on  the  contrary 
it  seems  to  me  that  we  ought  to  admire  the  courage  with 
which  these  birdlings  fight  the  hard  struggle  for  existence. 
Their  fondness  for  live  flesh  has  often  been  cast  at  them 
as  a  reproach,  live  flesh  which  they  tear  with  their  nails 
just  like  the  shrike  and  the  raven;  but  one  is  apt  to  forget 
that  their  small  body  is  only  a  bundle  of  muscles  and 
nerves  and  needs  very  substantial  food  to  resist  the  wear 
and  tear  of  life.  Their  constitution  demands  the  assimila- 
tion of  a  great  quantity  of  animal  food.  M'hy  do  we  not 
cast  the  same  reproach  at  the  nightingale  which  also  lives 
on  bleeding  flesh? 


176  THE    TITMOUSE    FAMILY 

As  to  the  cunning  of  titmice,  is  not  that  a  Hght  fault 
indeed  in  this  wee  bird  which  disappears  in  the  bigness  of 
the  great  forest,  where  it  is  constantly  obliged  to  defend 
itself  and  family  against  the  attacks  of  such  marauders  as 
the  night-owl  and  the  squirrel  ?  Pheasants  too  are  sly  and 
cunning,  but  this  takes  away  none  of  their  solid  and  va- 
liant merits.  If  perchance,  pressed  by  famine  a  titmouse 
pierces  the  skull  of  a  dead  or  dying  bird,  it  is  not  we,  who 
are  such  ferocious  hunters  and  anglers,  who  have  the 
right  to  cast  this  into  its  teeth  or  to  accuse  it  of  a  crime. 

To  eat  or  to  be  eaten  is  a  terrible  dilemma,  which  does 
not  allow  him  who  is  driven  into  it,  to  give  himself  up  to 
excessive  sensibility.  I  should  like  to  see  those  moralists 
who  accuse  titmice  ot  cruelty,  thrown  without  food  or 
clothing  into  a  wilderness,  and  under  the  necessity  of  get- 
ting their  food  by  the  strength  of  their  nails !... 

The  truth  is  that  titmice  are  very  sociable.  A\  hether 
they  have  a  taste  for  society,  or  whether  the  sense  of  their 
weakness  makes  them  congregate  together,  is  more  than 
we  can  say  ;  but  it  is  sure  that  they  are  fond  of  the  society 
of  their  equals  and  take  their  flight  in  larger  or  smaller 
troops.  ^^Tlen  perchance  some  accident  has  separated  them, 
they  quickly  utter  their  call  and  are  promptly  reunited. 

^^  hilst  I  was  meditating  on  the  faults  and  qualities  ol 
titmice,  1  happened  to  be  an  eye-witness  to  a  sample  of 
those  beautiful  relations  which  are  established  among  the 
different  members  of  this  family. 


THE   T  I T  -M  0  C  S  E 


THE    TITMOUSE    FAMILY  179 

« 

In  the  pines  and  firs,  in  the  hawthorn  and  barberry 
bushes  ah'eady  stripped  of  their  leaves  which  I  could  see 
from  my  window,  all  the  different  species  of  titmice  were 
represented,  seeming  to  live  in  perfect  harmony.  They 
formed  various  grouj:)s,  all  very  busy  and  very  restless. 
To  class  them  all  by  name  one  by  one  would  require  a 
numbering  almost  after  the  fashion  of  Homer. 

There  was  the  great  black- headed  titmouse  easily  re- 
cognised by  its  square  build,  its  black  hood  and  black 
breast-plate.  When  the  weather  is  unsettled  and  it  is 
going  to  rain,  it  utters  a  cry  which  is  like  the  grinding  of  a 
file  on  a  piece  of  iron,  whence  one  of  its  French  surnames : 
la  serriiriere  (the  locksmith).  But  generally  it  has  a  pleas- 
ing warble,  especially  in  the  season  of  love.  It  builds  its 
nest  in  the  holes  of  walls,  in  the  trunks  of  trees,  some- 
times also  in  coal-sheds  abandoned  by  coal-burners. 

Beside  the  great  black-headed  titmouse,  the  blue  tit- 
mouse is  very  busy,  the  prettiest,  the  boldest,  the  bravest 
of  the  family  ;  —  it  is  a  lovely  bird  with  its  delicate  head 
covered  by  a  blue  hood,  its  bluish  wings,  its  white  cheeks 
and  its  dark  blue  collar.  This  bird  is  the  most  terrible 
destroyer  of  caterpillars.  It  has  been  calculated  that  it 
eats  daily  half  an  ounce  of  eggs  of  butterflies. 

Then  comes  the  ash-coloured  titmouse  or  nun,  which 
stores  away  seed  in  its  hole  and  makes  war  on  wasps ;  — 
then  the  great  titmouse,  which  weaves  its  mossy  nest  in  a 
marvellous  manner,  and  suspends  it  on  the  boughs  of  trees 


180 


THE    TIIMOUSE    FAMILY 


just  like  the  gold-hammer  ;  —  lastly,  the  lon^-taih-d  tit- 
mouse, with  its  rapid,  elegant  flight  which  can  only  be 
compared  to  the  shooting  of  an  arrow. 

All  these  minute  folks  were  hopping,  skipping  and 
springing  about  and  warbling  peacefully  in  the  green 
boughs.  Suddenly  the  whole  troup  took  wing  with  a 
startled  cry ;  at  the  same  time  the  report  of  a  gun  was 
heard.  I  recognised  there  one  of  those  finely  character- 
istic traits  of  man^  that  mild  and  benevolent  animal  Avho 
is  so  very  much  shocked  by  the  ferocity  of  titmice.  For- 
tunately these  birdlings  are  wise  and  experienced ;  they 
had  foreseen  the  shot  and  had  taken  wing  in  time. 


THE    WREN 

Over  the  waves  aud  far  away 

The  birds  are  winging  their  way. 

Seeking  a  country   new 

Afar  o'er  the  waters  blue. 

'T  is  winter ;   they  dare  not   stay ; 

They  're  over  the  waves  and  away- 

But  one  little  bird  is  bold 
To  dare  the  rain  and  the  cold, 
The  hail  and  the   falling  snow 
And  winds  that  bluster  and  blow. 
The  big  birds    have  fled  from  the  cold, 
But  one  little  bird  is  bold. 


Little  wren  with  the  golden  cre',t 
A  brave  heart  belts  in  \our  breast 
On  boughs   where  the  ho.irfrosts  clin^ 
^  ou  sit  in  the   woods  aud  sing 
M  i\   glidness  dwell  in  jour  nest, 
Little  wren  with  the  golden  crest' 


f\ 

'-l! 

;-^ 

-> 

--^^r 

'^-^ 

THE  WREN  AND  THE  TROGLODYTE 


I  found  one  day  a  marvelously  constructed 
nest  in  the  boughs  of  a  larch  tree     Imagine  a 
large  ball,  delicately  woven  of  moss  and  gos- 
samer threads,  wadded  inside  with  the  war- 
mest and  softest    down,    gathered    from  the 
;     catkins  of  poplars,  the  ripe  tufts  of  thistles 
and  the  cottony  seed  of  the  willow  herb.     This 
soft  nest,  into  which   one  could  only  penetrate 
on  one  side  by  a  narrow  opening,  was  the  work  of  the 
golden-crested  wren,  that  liliputian  bird,  the  smallest  of 
our  European  birds. 

The  wren  is  yet  smaller  and  more  delicate  than  its 
cousin  the  troglodyte,  with  which  it  is  often  confounded, 
although  the  two  birds  differ  in  manners,  phimage  and 


184  THE    WREN    AND    THE    TROGLODYTE 

song.  The  troglodyte  is  about  an  inch  longer  than 
the  golden-crowned  wren  ;  its  plumage  is  shaded  off 
from  dark  brown  to  black,  like  that  of  tlie  woodcock  ;  its 
tail  is  constantly  turned  up  like  a  plume  of  feathers ;  it 
sings  moreover  a  merry,  melodious  strain.  It  builds  its 
nest  anywhere,  sometimes  close  to  the  ground,  on  some 
bough  covered  wilh  dense  foliage  ;  sometimes  under  the 
thatched  roof  of  some  lone  cottage,  and  even  sometimes 
on  llie  hut  of  a  coal-burner  or  maker  of  wooden  shoes, 
who  carry  on  their  trade  in  the  heait  of  the  forest.  Their 
nest  consists  of  a  ball  of  moss,  shapeless  on  the  outside, 
but  very  skiirully  lined  with  feathers  on  the  inside.  In  this 
soft  nest  the  female  lays  nine  or  ten  eggs  of  a  dull  whitish 
colour  spotted  with  red  at  the  broader  end.  As  soon  as 
the  young  ones  are  feathered,  the  family  scatters  and 
disperses  in  the  forest. 

The  troglodyte  lives  in  secluded  retirement,  in  bushes 
and  thickets.  There  it  flutters  about  until  night  has  set 
in,  and  it  is,  with  the  red-breast  and  the  blackbird,  one 
of  the  last  ])irds  whose  song  is  heard  after  the  sun  has 
set.  It  is  not  shy,  and  the  neighbourhood  of  man  does  not 
annoy  it  in  the  least.  I  remember  having  met  a  troglodyte 
in  the  forest  of  Compiegne,  which  was  fluttering  about 
between  the  entangled  branches  of  a  sloe-tree,  and  it  did 
not  seem  at  all  disquieted  by  my  presence.  It  went  on 
humming,  singing  with  a  clear  voice,  turning  up  its  small 
tail,  agitating  its  wings,  and  passing  through  the   thickets 


THE    WREN    AND    THE    TROGLODYTE  185 

and  briers  with  the  vivacity  of  a  lizard.  When  winter  is 
drawing  near,  this  small  birdling  remains  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  farms  and  orchards,  ever  singing  merrily,  in 
spite  of  cold  and  in  spite  of  snow.  «  It  is  never  melan- 
choly, says  Belon;  it  is  ever  ready  to  sing;  one  is  sure  to 
hear  it  at  morn  and  at  night  from  a  distance,  and  gene- 
rally in  winter  time,  and  its  song  then  is  scarcely  less  loud 
than  that  of  the  nightingale.  » 

The  bird  to  which  the  troglodyte  bears  the  closest 
resemblance,  in  voice  and  in  habits,  is  the  small  willow- 
wren  or  pewet.  The  pewet  is  of  the  same  size  as  the 
wren  ;  it  has  also  the  same  plumage,  with  the  exception  of 
the  crest ;  but  it  has  the  habits  and  general  bearing  of  the 
troglodyte.  Like  the  latter,  it  feeds  on  worms  and  flies, 
which  it  pursues  with  astonishing  vivacity.  The  female 
lays  generally  five  or  six  white  eggs,  with  russet-coloured 
spots.  The  young  ones  do  not  leave  their  mossy  bed  till 
they  are  able  to  fly.  In  Autumn,  the  pewet  imitates  its 
cousin  the  troglodyte ;  it  abandons  the  large  forests  and 
begins  to  flutter  near  orchards.  Its  song  consists  of  long 
shrill  notes,  with  varied  modulations;  it  begins  with  a 
sort  of  syncopated  murmur  ;  then  come  some  silvery 
notes,  clear  and  distinct ;  lastly,  a  very  sweet,  sustained 
warbling,  which,  especially  in  Autumn,  finishes  off  in  a 
loud  whistle:  tuit!  tuit!  and  which  is  like  the  character- 
istic signature  of  this  diminutive  virtuoso. 

The  golden-crested  wren,  on   the  contrary,  scarcely 


186       THE  WREX  AND  THE  TROGLODYTE 

ever  warbles  excepting  at  the  time  of  brooding;  at  all 
other  times,  it  utters  only  a  sort  of  single  shrill  cry  which 
is  very  much  like  that  of  the  grasshopper.  But  if  it  does 
not  shine  by  its  song,  it  makes  up  (or  this  imperfection  by 
Avearing  on  its  forehead  the  badge  of  royalty.  Its  plain 
l)rown  })lumage  is  set  ofl  by  a  beautiful  gold  coloured 
ci'own.  This  crest  consists  of  moveable  feathers  which 
the  wren,  by  means  of  certain  nmscles  in  the  head,  can 
raise  or  lower  at  pleasure.  The  crest  is  edged  with  black; 
a  white  line  at  its  basis,  a  black  trail  on  both  sides  of  the 
eyes,  mark  yet  more  the  courageous  and  resolute  mien 
of  this  miniature  monarch. 

And  indeed  the  golden-crowned  wren  is  full  of  viva- 
city and  energy  ;  there  is  not  a  bird  A\ho  undertakes  more 
bravely  the  struggle  for  existence.  In  summer's  sini,  in 
winter's  cold  it  skips  with  intrepidity  from  tree  to  bush, 
from  bush  to  blade  of  grass,  shelling  the  yellow  grain  of 
fennel  seed,  dealing  the  needles  of  the  larch  tree,  picking 
in  the  crevices  of  the  bark  of  willows  to  find  larvae  of 
insects  or  eggs  of  butterflies. 

It  is  exceedingly  fond  of  biting  off  voung  leaves  from 
I  he  boughs  of  the  trees  of  the  ])ine  family  :  pines,  fir 
trees,  juniper  trees.  Axhich  conceal  a  whole  world  of 
lai'vae  and  eggs  between  their  needles.  The  wren  is  a 
master  in  the  art  of  destroving  caterpillars.  It  has  been 
calculated  that  a  golden-crested  wTen  can  devour  yearly 
three  millions  of  eggs  and  of  chrysalides. 


THE    WREN 


THE    WREN    AND    THE    TROGLODYTE  189 

It  differs  in  this  from  the  troglodyte  :  it  pursues  its 
occupations,  followed  by  its  whole  family,  with  order  and 
method.  The  whole  hand  flies  from  one  tuft  of  shoot  to  the 
other,  in  a  certain  direction  determined  by  a  special 
instinct  of  migration.  An  ornithologist,  who  is  known  as 
a  close  observer  of  nature,  M.  de  la  Blanchere,  has  told 
us  in  his  interesting  book  about  I'seful  and  noxious 
birds,  that  he  had  succeeded  in  knowing  well  by  ^hich 
side  a  golden-crested  wren  had  entered  into  a  forest,  and 
also  in  which  regions  of  the  forest  he  would  unfailingly 
meet  these  little  birdlings  all  winter  long. 

The  golden-crested  wren  is  fond  of  large  trees.  It 
suspends  its  nest  beneath  some  forest  pine  tree,  in  whose 
boughs  the  wind  sings  such  melodious  strains,  or  else 
beneath  the  majestic  fir  of  the  Vosges,  all  bordered 
with  lichen.  In  this  nest,  rocked  by  the  waves  of  the  big- 
forest,  the  female  lays  from  seven  to  eleven  yellowish 
brown  eggs,  about  the  size  of  green  peas.  Now-a-days, 
only  low  people  or  kings  can  afford  the  luxury  of  such 
large  families. 

In  its  small  body,  the  golden-crowned  wren  combines 
at  the  same  time  royal  and  plebeian  blood.  By  its  size, 
its  industrious  habits  and  its  good  humour,  it  belongs  to 
the  people;  but  it  wears  a  crown  and  reigns  in  the  forest 
in  a  fashion  of  its  own.  It  enjoys  a  sort  of  mysterious, 
intangible  royalty,  which  can  only  be  compared  to  that 
of  Queen  Mab  or  to  that  of  Oberon.   In  the  large,  sleeping 


190 


THE  WREN  AXD  THE  TROGLODYTE 


forest,  the  golden-crowned  wren  lepresents  movement 
and  life.  \A'^hen  tlie  fro/en  hrooks  are  silent,  when  not  a 
blade  of  grass  is  moving,  when  the  wood-cntter  warms  his 
fingers  by  blowing  on  them  before  taking  up  the  hatchet, 
he  hears  snddcMdv  a  light,  merry  cry.  and  sees  a  lovely, 
(h'minutive  a|)|)ariti()n.  crowned  with  a  crest  of  gold,  gli- 
ding between  the  bare  boughs.  It  is  tlie  familiar  spii-it  of 
the  big  forest,  the  beautiful  golden-crowned  wren,  which 
laughs  at  the  bleak  north  wind,  and  continues  picking  ca- 
terpillars  'rom  the  juniper  trees,  almost  buried  in  snow. 


THE    BLACKBIRD 

u  March  sings  the  Blackbird,  aloft  sits  he 
n  the  blossom  white  on  the  damson  tree. 
And  whistles  as  loud  as  loud  can  be. 

n  spite  of  the  frosty  meadows, 
And  hail  that  drives  in  the  sky 
And  whitens  the  grass   in  the  orchard. 
He  knows  that  spring  is  nigh. 

le  thinks  of  the  juicy  cherries 
That  summer  will  set  on  the  trees. 
And  dreaming  of  loaded  orchards 
lie  fancies  their  scent  in  the  breeze. 

Afar,  like  a  fairy  vision 
He  sees  in  the  vineyard  bare. 
Its  leaves  in  the  autumn  ruddy, 
Its  sweet  grapes  ripening  there. 

In  March  sings  the  Blackbird,  aloft  sits  he 

A  bird  as  black  as  black  can  be. 

In  the  blossom  white  on  the  damson  tree. 


'^- 


H'i 


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^:^x  y\"'r:m 


*>^  '^^ 


m 


THE   BLACKBIRD 


Every  one  knows  that  joyous  fellow,  even 

Parisians  who  have  never  much  lived  in  the 

country,    for    it    is   the  guest  of  all    Paris 

gardens  and  squares.   Every-where,   in  the 

Luxembourg  and  Tuileries  gardens,    in  the 

.  .  ' '^^     Pare  Monceau,    you  can    see  ihem    skipping 

'^     and  hopping  about  in  the  flowerbeds  or  on  the 

lawns,  nimble  and  alert,  and  easily  recognized 

by  their  fine   shiny  black   costume    and    their 

yellow  bill.   The  female   almost  always  accompanies  the 

male,  her  costume  is  grey;  she  is   as  discreet,   reserved 

and  silent  as  he   is  talkative 

The   blackbird  is   not  a    bird  of  passage,    but   a    se- 
dentary one;  even  in  the  severest   cold  it  remains  in  our 


194  THE    BLACKBIRD 

lands.  In  \yinter,  in  cities,  it  is  fond  of  haunting  the 
neighbourhood  of  dweUings,  where,  among  the  green 
boughs  of  tlie  gardens,  it  is  always  sure  to  find  shelter 
and  some  sort  of  food. 

When  the  country  blackbirds  feel  that  winter  is 
setting  in,  they  seek  a  refuge  in  the  very  depths  of  the 
forest,  within  reach  of  some  tepid  s])ring,  beneath  some 
pines  or  juniper  trees,  which  offer  them,  better  board  and 
lodging.  As  soon  as  the  cold  is  less  intense  they  become 
very  merry  and  begin,  already  early  in  February,  to 
utter  that  jovous  whistle  which  resounds  so  merrily 
in  forest  thickets  and  parks,  when  chestnut  catkins  begin 
to  bloom.  They  build  their  .nest  very  early,  and  if  the 
first  brood  does  not  live  on  account  of  the  cold,  the 
female  is  not  discouraged  and  begins  to  lay  her  eggs 
a  second  time.  They  build  their  nest  nearly  even  with 
the  soil ,  or  sometimes  in  the  hollow  of  some  old  willow. 
Their  nest  bears  a  great  resemblance  to  that  of  the 
thrush  ;  it  is  made  of  solid  masonry  and  woven  very  dex- 
terously ;  a  layer  of  clay  covers  it  on  the  outside,  on  the 
inside  it  is  lined  with  grass  and  roots,  and  again  with 
soft  moss.  The  female  lays  four  or  five  bluish  green  eggs, 
spotted  with  rust.  She  broods  them  alone,  while  the  male 
is  fluttering  to  and  fro,  whistling  merrily  and  searching 
at  the  same  time  for  food  ;  this  he  brings  back  to  his 
mate  after  having  divided  it  into  pieces. 

The  disposition  of  the  blackbird;  is  very  jovial;   it  is 


THE    BLACKBIRD  195 

SO  to  say  the  wag  of  the  world  of  birds.  It  has  something- 
of  the  animation  and  the  crack  spirits  of  a  clown  or  a  low 
actor,  and  like  these  merry-makers  it  needs  a  gallery  to 
listen  to  it  and  to  applaud  it.  It  is  very  fond  of  society, 
hut  prefers  to  the  companionship  of  its  brethren,  that  of 
smaller  birds  of  different  species.  Often,  towards  evening, 
1  have  observed  the  manoeuvres  of  blackbirds  on  the 
large  lawns  of  the  Luxembourg.  Each  one  would  skip 
lightly  over  the  grass  ,  escorted  by  four  five  familiar 
sparrows,  that  seemed  to  be  very  proud  of  being  admitted 
into  the  intimacy  of  the  fine  blackbird  with  its  hand- 
some black  dress.  The  latter,  meanwhile,  would  skip  to 
and  fro,  with  a  mien  of  self  importance  and  condescen- 
sion; it  seemed  to  take  great  pleasure  in  astonishing 
the  «  small  fry  »  which  it  consented  to  admit  into  its 
company.  It  appeared  to  me  like  one  of  those  witty  wags 
who  are  at  the  same  time  vain,  noisy  and  vulgar,  who 
disdain  their  equals  and  only  find  themselves  at  ease  in 
the  company  of  persons  they  can  dazzle  and  over  whom 
they  can  lord  it  easily. 

The  blackbird  is  fond  of  showing  himself  in  public; 
he  likes  to  have  all  the  talk  to  himself,  and  makes  him- 
self everywhere  at  home  very  unceremoniously.  I  remem- 
ber having  witnessed  one  morning  in  autumn  a  most 
amusing  scene,  in  which  a  blackl)ird  played  (lie  cliief  part. 
On  the  outskirts  of  a  vineyard,  a  l)lackbii(l,  (hunk  with 
grape  juice,  was  parading  near  me,  accompanied  by  half  a 


196  THE     BLACKBIRD 

dozen  thrushes.  The  wag,  merrily  inclined,  was  perched 
on  top  of"  one  of  the  vine-poles  giving  a  performance  for 
the  benefit  of  his  merry  followers.  He  twinkled  his  eyes, 
fluttered  his  wings,  agitated  his  tail,  put  his  head  between 
his  feet,  with  a  grotesque  mien,  which  greatly  amused  his 
lady  spectators,  very  attentive  to  all  that  was  going  on. 

And  besides,  autumn  is  a  season  of  high  glee  and 
merry-making  for  the  blackbird.  The  orchards  are  full  of 
stone  fruit,  wild  berries  are  abundant  in  the  hedges,  the 
grape-vines  are  loaded  with  grapes.  Therefore,  it  cares 
no  longer  for  worms  or  insects;  it  stuffs  itself  with  the 
pulp  of  sweet-scented,  juicy  fruit.  It  has  no  other  care 
but  tliat  of  satisfying  its  greediness  :  love  is  no  longer 
one  of  its  torments,  and  it  has  become  silent.  It  only 
utters  a  sort  of  ill-humoured  sound,  when  disturbed 
whilst  taking  its  dinner. 

But  the  finest  of  holidays  w^ill  come  to  an  end.  One  by 
one,  the  fruit-trees  lose  their  leaves  and  their  fruit;  the 
grapes  are  gathered.  There  is  nothing  more  to  steal  on 
bush  or  hedge  but  a  few  berries  on  the  sloe  tree  and  in  the 
thickets,  already  covered  with  hoar  frost.  Now  the  long 
days  of  feasting  are  over;  the  blackbird  must  be  satisfied 
with  less  abundant  fare.  At  the  end  of  November,  the  last 
wild  berries  have  disappeared  with  the  frost...  Good  bye, 
juicy  fruit. 

The  blackbird  now  retreats  towards  the  big  clumps  of 
trees  and  establishes  itself  in  its  winter  quarters.  There, 


THE    BLACrvBIRD 


THE    BLACKBIRD  190 

the  fare  is  but  middling  and  the  society  it  meets  not  very 
amusing.  The  time  of  merry-making  is  over.  My  Lord 
Blackbird  is  obliged  to  come  back  to  the  tlict  oi  grub 
and  worms,  and  even  tliese  are  not  always  tountl  in  sutii- 
cient  quantity.  All  his  boon  comj)anions,  being  afraid  of 
cold,  have  emigrated  towards  warmer  climes.  His  only 
society  are  titmice,  whom  we  know  as  cross-grained, 
peevish,  and  positive  people;  busy  birds,  indeed,  little 
inclined  to  listen  to  the  fooleries  of  the  black!)ird;  he  also 
finds  golden-crested  wrens,  who  being  of  a  reserved  dispo- 
sition, fly  from  the  vicinity  of  our  big  noisy  blackbird. 

Happily,  he  is  a  ])liilosopher.  He  repeals  to  himself 
for  his  own  benefit  all  his  waggish  tales,  like  an  old,  long 
forgotten  actor  who  plays  over  again  foi-  liimself  all  those 
scenes  in  which  he  used  to  be  applauded  in  his  best 
days.  And  then  he  consoles  himself  by  saying  to  himself 
that  bad  days  will  pass  by  as  well  as  happy  ones,  and  that 
after  all,  winter  is  not  everlasting.  Already  at  the  end  of 
January  he  perches  on  the  topmost  branch  of  a  fir  tree  and 
watches  attentively  the  lengthening  days  and  the  rising- 
temperature.  On  Saint-Antony's  day  days  «  lengthen  the 
length  of  a  monk's  meal,  »  and  at  Gandlemass  «  they  leng- 
then an  hour  »;  and  with  all  that  the  latter  end  of  winter 
is  at  hand.  By  a  peculiar  instinct,  midst  rainshowers  and 
February  storms,  the  blackbird  knows  that  spring-time  is 
near.  It  sees  the  catkins  on  hazel-nut  trees  growing  lon- 
ger; it  sees  that  in  the   thickets  the  black  hellebore   is 


200 


THE    BLACKBIRD 


opening  its  green  corollas  edged  with  rose  colour  :  on  all 
sides,  in  every  nook  and  corner  the  woods  seem  to  say  : 
«  Spring  has  returned  !  » 

In  its  heart  of  hearts  the  blackbird  feels  it  also.  In  its 
breast  the  desire  of  love  is  budding,  just  as  buds  are  ap- 
pearing on  the  boughs,  and  suddenly  it  begins  to  whistle 
merrily.  That  alert  whistle  which  resounds  in  tlie  silent, 
deserted  forest  is  the  first  note  on  the  fiddle  which  gives 
the  signal  of  the  ever  renewed,  ever  enchanting  symphony 
of  spring. 


."C  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARV  FACILITN' 


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